


Part Six: Allies

by laridian



Series: A Gun For Barns [6]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Character, M/M, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamorous Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, characters and ships added as they appear in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 31,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23562529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridian/pseuds/laridian
Summary: War comes ever closer, and Gunnar Volk has to work fast to gain allies and prepare.
Relationships: Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Series: A Gun For Barns [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1248389
Comments: 31
Kudos: 16





	1. Easy Living

Arcade wouldn't have cared so much about cleanliness, but if Gunnar insisted on it for himself, Arcade could hardly climb into bed next to him while wearing several days of travel grime.

"You know," he remarked, propping up Gunnar's injured knee with extra pillows, "When I was growing up, I was told we were the true descendants of the Americans. The best and greatest. And we carried on their traditions and life."

"Uh-huh." Gunnar eased back to a prone position and shifted his leg a little on the pillows.

"Then here comes a real, from-the-past American into my life and you're not what I would have expected."

"Like what?" Gunnar felt too tired and sore to launch into the topic, but he'd go along for a few minutes. "Wanting to be clean?"

"We actually emphasized that ourselves, just not to your extreme." Arcade scratched at his chest through his shirt. "Yes, I'll shower before I join you, I won't sully the Ponix's bed with earthly dirt."

"Smart-ass." Gunnar was too tired for better banter. "Is that all?"

"You're… were all Americans like you?"

"No. Arcade, this is a topic I'd love to talk about, tomorrow. I need to sleep, if my knee will let me."

"I know a way to help you feel better," Arcade hinted.

"…Tomorrow." It was a nice thought, but not now. 

"Tomorrow, then. I'm holding you to that."

When Arcade returned from the bathroom, Gunnar was already asleep.

~ ~ ~

"…was _Buttons and Bows_ , a great song for those cross-cultural romances we've all heard about, and some of us have even experienced. There's some hot news coming through the wires tonight, so you may want to listen up. Gunnar Volk, the man who took over New Vegas from our beloved Mr. House, has done it again. Reports are in that Dr. Volk, with only a single companion by his side, fought off a squad of the Brotherhood of Steel supplemented with Legion mercenaries, protecting a camp of settlers and families. People on the Strip have started calling him the Ponix of New Vegas, and if he keeps this up, they could be right. Up next we have a classic that's going out from me to you, because I love you, all of you."

~ ~ ~

"I can't even hobble around on a crutch?"

"No." Arcade crossed his arms. "You have to rest. It's not just your knee. You. Need. To. Rest."

"But —"

"I know, you've got plans and lots to do. Not today."

Gunnar set his jaw. "The NCR and the Legion aren't resting."

"And there's more of them. Their leaders delegate. You don't, and to be fair, sometimes you can't. You're still new enough to the political field here that you have to do some things in person." Arcade uncrossed his arms. "But one day won't kill you. I'll look for any pre-war meds or something that might speed up the process."

"Stimpacks?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Now stay in bed. Doctor's orders."

"What if I have to —"

"Yes, you can get up for that, if only because there's no other solution handy. Read a book. Write your diary. Talk to the robots." Arcade picked up a satchel. "I'll let the others know how you're doing." 

~ ~ ~

Veronica came up to the penthouse to hang out after a couple of hours. "Arcade told me I had to rest today, but nobody's here," she groused.

"You too?" Gunnar gestured to the other side of the bed. "Take a seat." His leg was still propped up, but he could sit and write instead of lying down.

"I get it, but I'm still bored." Veronica sat on the bed and swung her bare feet up. "Hey, this is nice."

"It is. Well, you can be bored up here, I guess. Where's everyone else?"

"Arcade handed out some orders and then left."

"And they listened?"

"Why wouldn't they? You two are together."

Gunnar exhaled noisily.

"You want to turn on the radio?" Veronica asked.

"No. What did he tell them to do?"

"Raul's still working on that room of yours. He has a whole crew of ghouls on it."

"And probably on the payroll, too. What else?"

"Looking for the print shop. Talking to people. Restocking medical supplies. Stuff like that."

Gunnar nodded. "I suppose he's right, about us needing to rest, but it bugs me."

"You're driven."

"I wish I was, then I wouldn't have had to walk all the way back to Vegas." She didn't get the joke. Gunnar opened his diary again and looked at the page, willing words to come forth.

"Do you get a lot of bad dreams?" Veronica asked, in a quiet voice.

"Yes," Gunnar said, equally quietly.

"Do they stop?"

"Eventually you get fewer of them. That's what I've heard."

"I hope so." Veronica began to draw up her knees, winced and changed her mind. "It's seeing their faces that's the worst."

"You knew them?"

"Once the helmets were off… Yeah." 

Gunnar closed his diary and set it aside. "You want to talk about it?"

Veronica wiped at her nose. "Yeah.”

~ ~ ~

"I found the print shop."

Gunnar looked up from his delivered dinner-in-bed to Arcade, who looked impossibly smug. "Good."

"That's all you have to say? Good?"

"It needed to be done and you did it. Were you shot at? Was there attempted murder?"

"Of course not."

"Then good, you found the print shop. Want some dinner?"

"Gladly." Arcade took his plate and sat at the foot of the bed.

"If you spill any of that on my bed — "

"Oh, it's not our bed?"

"If I have to live in it for another day or two, then it's my bed."

"And here I thought you'd want to know what I'd found out." Arcade began eating. "What is this, anyway?"

"The menu says beef Wellington with foie gras, creamed spinach, roasted mushrooms and truffles. I'm not sure how close it is to the original, but this is good." Gunnar hoped some of these meals weren't being made with two-hundred-year-old stored food, but if they were, it had held up well.

"I don't know what some of those things are, which is saying something. But it tastes fine."

"Print shop," Gunnar suggested.

"Right. So it's a couple of women that followed the NCR out here. The NCR tends to be the big dog when it comes to printed matter in the Mojave; not many people need paper products, but the army does."

"Can't go wrong with a DoD contract," Gunnar murmured to himself.

"Once they got here, they do work on the side for anyone else who wants printing done, which includes, well, everyone, really. It's in their best interest to keep their biggest customer happy, but the casinos and others use paper too. There's only so many old notepads and blank books left."

Gunnar looked up. "Where do they get the paper?"

Arcade shrugged and kept eating, talking as he did so. "The point is, they do up the posters for anyone who can pay."

"Do they know who they sold the posters to?"

"They thought you were sending someone to get the most recent batch done, through an intermediary. I suspect the casinos, because you haven't had time to do this yourself. As for the 'Gunnar Volk is a horrible person' posters, again, some intermediary is dropping off the text and design along with payment."

"I suppose we could stake out the print shop," Gunnar sighed, and set his empty plate on the room-service cart. "Can I see the mail from last night?"

"Not until I go through it."

"I thought I was the boss here."

"You are," Arcade said. "But someone's out to get you, and is spending money and time to run a smear campaign. You have enough to worry about without reading hate mail. Better you should focus on getting better. Speaking of which, I'll take a look at your leg after I'm done."


	2. Rest Day

"How far away are your other family members?" Gunnar asked. He could walk on his knee a little while, but would probably have to rest another day before hiking across the Mojave. _What I wouldn't give for a working vehicle of any kind. Or a horse. Or even a wheeled cart. How the hell does the NCR get things around the desert?_

"They're not close to each other, if that's what you're asking," Arcade said. He put some other plant matter into the mortar and pestle and began grinding it together. "And you'll have to take it easy on that knee no matter what. You don't want permanent damage."

"I know, I know. Imagine hobbling about on a cane, or a walker, or… you know, I think I've seen some wheelchairs about. But the rubber's all rotted away, that'd be a very rough ride." Gunnar squeezed his knee gently with both hands in hope that that would induce a miracle. It didn't. "Is there a map of the area? A recent one, I mean?"

Yes Man was able to produce one on crumbling tractor-feed paper, something Gunnar had thought was obsolete even before the war. Still, it was a map, however crudely printed. After Arcade had rubbed the freshly made paste into Gunnar's knee, and Gunnar got dressed enough to meet with everyone else, the team gathered at the big kitchen table.

"So here's Vegas," Gunnar said, tapping it with a pencil. "The Boomers are up here and I have to get to them, see if they can provide some support in the upcoming war."

"It's equally likely they'll shoot at everyone and anyone," Cass said.

"Right, but eventually they'll run out of ammo or someone will figure a way to smoke them out. Otherwise they're a tough nut to crack. On the advice of the good Doctor Gannon, I'm not to go up there until I can safely run while panicking as the bombs drop," Gunnar continued. "So I'll stay in Vegas for a few more days and be visible. Make some social calls." Arcade had finally handed over the mail, and Gunnar decided it was time to accept invitations.

"So we get some time off too?" Boone asked.

"You had time off while I was getting blown up by dynamite-wielding hit squads. Is there anything else I should know about?"

"That reception room of yours is coming along," Raul rasped.

"Good! I should take a look at it."

"You should, first thing in the morning. I'll have the crew there and you can meet them.”

Gunnar nodded. "Excellent. I'll do that."

He looked down at the map again. Two of Arcade's "family" were within range of the Strip; he could probably meet them while making his social rounds. One was near the Boomers. The other was to the west, and that one had to wait. "Cass, how about you come with me tomorrow? There'll probably be drinks offered."

"Didn't even give me a chance to think about it, did you? Sure, I'll come along and play bodyguard for you." She leaned back and clasped her hands behind her head.

"Arcade's going to the Old Mormon Fort to see if we can restock any of our supplies, since we donated a lot of them to that Follower outpost," Gunnar said. "Craig…" He tapped the pencil against the map again. "I'd love to have you stake out that print shop, but I don't know what the point would be. You're recognizable and we don't know who's doing this campaign against me."

"I'll ask around," Boone said. "Someone's putting them up. Someone else must've seen something."

"Good enough. I think that's everything?"

"What about me?" Veronica said.

"I thought you still needed to rest."

"You're not," she pointed out.

"True, but I've got a city to run. Tell you what — you get a day off since you got pretty beat up in that attack too."

"But that's — " Veronica started. Cass raised her hand to forestall her. "Take it, Ronnie. You don't know what he might ask of you next."

~ ~ ~

"You should still rest."

"I know." Gunnar pushed his arms through the sleeves of his pajamas. He felt more tired than he should have, for just lying about all day. He didn't need to look at Arcade to know the latter's arms were crossed and lips pursed in disapproval. "But according to you, I have to meet your family in person. If someone local is promoting me around the city, it's important I found out who's doing it, or at least say hello and small-talk with the important players. That's part of being on top, if you don't want to rule by fear."

"True. You're not fearsome enough to rule by fear, for all you're the Ponix." Arcade uncrossed his arms. "It's tomorrow."

Gunnar tried to think what that might mean. 

"Oh. Right. Arcade, you just said I should rest — "

"And you will. I'll do everything." Arcade approached and began rubbing Gunnar's shoulders. "All you have to do is lie back and enjoy it."

"I appreciate the thought, but I'll have to take a rain check." Gunnar turned to face Arcade.

"A what?"

"I'd like to save it for later. I'm tired."

"I said, you don't have to — "

"I know what you said," Gunnar said wearily. "And I just want to get some sleep right now. Don't be angry."

"I was looking forward to it," Arcade muttered. He watched as Gunnar went to the bed and got under the covers.

Gunnar made himself comfortable. "C'mon to bed. I'm not mad, just — " He yawned. " — tired."

Arcade did, and Gunnar shut off the lights and moved closer to the doctor, who remained tense. "Still love you," Gunnar yawned.

"I love you too," Arcade sighed, with a hint of exasperation. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Sleep?" Gunnar suggested. "Oh. Sorry."

Arcade grumbled to himself. 

"Do whatever it was you did before I came along," Gunnar murmured.

There was a thoughtful pause before Arcade said, "No, I probably shouldn't do that."

Gunnar did not take the bait. He pretended to be asleep, even when Arcade asked him if he was awake, and soon enough it was true.

~ ~ ~

In the morning, Arcade pronounced Gunnar's knee safe to walk on, "as long as you don't do it too much, don't run, don't kneel or trip on anything, and try not to stress it."

"Another day to stay home?" Gunnar asked. He currently sat in an easy chair, hands folded across his stomach.

"If you'd agree to it, yes. Have Boone carry you home if it hurts to walk on it." Arcade put on his Follower coat and slung a satchel over his shoulder. 

"I promise I'll take care of myself and not get into trouble," Gunnar said. "Of course, if trouble comes looking for me, that's different."

"I know."

"And I have a cane."

"Really?" Arcade raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Boone got me one, the last time I hurt my knee. It'll help. And maybe look distinguished."

Arcade shrugged. "If it eases the stress on your knee, that's what's important." He bent down and kissed Gunnar on the forehead. "See you later. And I'm serious. Don't get hurt."


	3. Puttin' On The Ritz

Raul's crew building the Lucky 38's new audience room was entirely made up of ghouls. Gunnar bit back the sudden irrational urge to make stupid puns, and instead greeted the crew and inspected their work. "I think you're building the best visiting room in New Vegas," he proclaimed at the end of it. What he'd seen did look good. But he wasn't an architect or a builder, so he had to trust Raul that all was going well.

~ ~ ~

At the Tops, Gunnar cocked his head upward, listening to the tune coming through the speakers. "They've got new music."

"Good." Boone was in the role of Patient Bodyguard for the moment.

"Yeah. It's a nice change." All prerecorded music were golden (or moldy) oldies at this date, but it was still good to hear something from Gunnar's own era instead of — 

"Dr. Volk! Or should I call you Ponix now?" Swank was all easy smile and firm handshake today. "What's with the swagger stick? You trying to improve your look? I know this barber — "

"No, no," Gunnar said, leaning as nonchalantly on the cane as he could. "Just a little residual stiffness from a recent fight." 

Swank eyed him. "That one with the Brotherhood? Yeah, I heard about that one. You took 'em on all by yourself?"

"Me and a friend, yes."

Swank looked carefully at Gunnar. "People underestimate you, don't they? But hey, you didn't come over to chew the fat in the lobby. What can I do you for?"

They went to one of the smaller lounges, where Gunnar accepted a bottled water and Boone took a casually menacing posture while Gunnar and Swank took seats. Swank asked about the Brotherhood fight, Gunnar was modest about it and changed the topic to the posters, which Swank thought were very tasteful indeed and a sign of a vibrant and healthy political ecosystem. "Not that you're running for office," he added, "but it's always easier to work knowing you're not likely to get knifed in the back."

"Truer words were never spoken," Gunnar agreed. "Anything I should know, Swank? You're a connected guy. You're down on the street." He could sense rather than see Boone's eyes rolling behind the tinted lenses.

"C'mon, Volk," Swank said, not buying it either. "Just speak plainly and I'll do the same. You've got enemies, we all know it, and the NCR's sharpening its knives. But I've got no complaints with you." He sipped his own drink. 

"I never doubted it. I'll speak plainly, then: do you know who's behind those posters? The first ones, I mean, against me."

Swank swallowed and shook his head. "Not a clue," he said. "They're coming out of that print shop just off the NCR settlement south of town, but that doesn't mean anything. Anyone with money can get something printed if the NCR doesn't have the presses tied up."

A printing press, Gunnar thought. He needed one of those too. It would be better to have it under his own control, though; and then he'd need a supply of paper, wherever the NCR was getting theirs, and — "If you do hear anything, you'll let me know, won't you?"

"Of course. Vegas depends on us, right?"

~ ~ ~

In the Tops lobby, Boone was nearly at the door when he realized Gunnar wasn't with him. He looked back to see the man standing as if transfixed.

Boone walked back to him. "You said this wouldn't happen again," he muttered.

"It isn't," Gunnar said. "I'm just listening."

Boone listened. One of the new songs. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, it… meant something to me at one time." Gunnar sounded sad. "Let's go."

~ ~ ~

Cachino was more openly wary than Swank, offered Gunnar a drink (which was refused), asked about the Brotherhood battle (to which Gunnar just said "we took care of things" and changed the subject), and mentioned that the offer was still open if Dr. Volk ever wanted an evening's high entertainment.

"It's much appreciated, but I'm very busy right now," Gunnar said.

"Yeah, no shit. You gotta learn to delegate, Doc. Can I call you Doc?"

"I'm already delegating, Cachino." Gunnar just didn't have enough people to delegate to, and not nearly enough power yet to persuade people without showing up in person. 

"Sure, but I saw you've got yourself a robot dealing with mail and messages. What you need is a good right-hand man, or woman or whatever, who can deal with stuff. Like a receptionist."

Gunnar thought back to Betty, and realized he could never trust her, knowing how easily she could be bought. "I know that. I'm working on it. Anything else? Anything going on I should know about?"

Cachino lit a fresh cigarette. "I wanted to say thanks for paying all those ghoul workers of yours. That's a good idea, givin' 'em all jobs, they'll remember that. And they spend good money at places on the Strip that know how to cater to their needs." He nodded significantly.

"Good to know one of my new policies is working," Gunnar said, making a mental note to thank Raul for setting it up. "Any ideas who's determined to take me down?"

"Besides the NCR and the Legion? And sounds like the Brotherhood, too?" Cachino laughed. "You got 'em all bamboozled, Doc. They think you're all soft and educated, but I was there when you cleared the way for me to become the big man here." Cachino leaned back and blew out a stream of smoke. "Anyone tries messing with you, they'd better watch their goddamn backs."

~ ~ ~

"He's not wrong," Boone said, as he and Gunnar walked to the Ultra-Luxe.

"Whoever's targeting me isn't trying to kill me outright. Even if they are, they only have to get lucky once." Gunnar shook his head. "I think Arcade's right, that the casinos are behind the other posters. They don't want any other players winning the game."

~ ~ ~

"Doctor Volk! It's _so_ good to see you again," Marjorie gushed, as Gunnar took a seat in her office. Boone stood with his back to the wall, where he could see the door in case of emergency. "Can I have something brought for you?"

"No thank you, Marjorie. I just came by for a social call. Forgive my casual attire."

"The Ponix can wear what he likes." Marjorie managed to also convey "But he should dress appropriately to his station" in her tone. "Is that the only walking stick you have?"

"Marjorie, it's fine, really. It gets the job done."

"I understand you want to be seen as a friend of the common man, but really, Doctor Volk." Marjorie looked sympathetic yet vaguely disappointed. 

"There's a war on," Gunnar said.

"True, true… but even so, Doctor Volk, I can acquire for you a much more sophisticated walking stick. Allow me to do this for you."

"I can't accept gifts, Marjorie. You know that. It could be seen as favoritism."

"Then I'll have it charged to you and you can pay for it at your convenience. That's more than fair, isn't it?"

"Marjorie, really," Gunnar said. "I don't need — "

"Do you still have your evening dress suit?" Marjorie interrupted.

Five minutes later they'd agreed that Marjorie could recommend but not gift anything to Gunnar or his friends or employees, and Boone remained impressively stone-faced while a White Gloves tailor was sent to look for a suitable new walking stick. Gunnar looked up at the sniper and with his eyes alone said "Not a single word."

"I do hope you'll consider popping 'round for our next large function," Marjorie said. "We missed you at New Year's Eve. It was quite an event."

"I'm sure it was, and especially when things calm down, I think I'd like to make use of your pool," Gunnar said.

"But of course! You are, after all, a member of the Society and are free to use the resort's amenities at any time. No need for a written invitation." Marjorie smiled.

"Do you do a lot of those?" Gunnar asked. "Invitations, I mean. Menus. Printed materials."

"If you mean, are the White Gloves behind those posters promoting you as Vegas' new hope? Partly. Of course we know of artists and designers for our own functions. We provided the contacts to help draw up the posters." She fitted a cigarette into a pre-war gold and black holder and lit it. "Would you like some posters done up as well? I thought the particular style chosen was bold but not gauche."

"Not right now. You have exquisite taste, Marjorie." Gunnar could imagine Boone gagging, but the sniper stayed quiet. 

Marjorie extended an invitation to lunch, which Gunnar declined, saying that he had more visits or make. "But thank you, and —" 

"Ah. Here's your cane," Marjorie said, as her assistant returned holding the item. 

It was a setup, Gunnar thought. She'd always intended to offer something, and a cane worked. He wouldn't go for it. Polite refusal. No gifts accepted. 

Except it really was beautiful. The wood didn't look pre-war, but it had warm red tones in its dark color. The handle was a golden, or more likely gilded, eagle's head. It looked both beautiful and practical. 

And the theme fit. Eagle, raptor, phoenix, ponix. Oh, Marjorie knew what she was doing, all right.

"It's gorgeous," Gunnar admitted it, holding it in his hands and turning it to admire the work.

"Of course it is. The handle and tip are pre-war, the wood is modern black cherry. It would be more than serviceable for the leader of a city-state."

Oh, she'd planned this, she had. Probably back when he'd ousted Mortimer and shown he meant business. Power politics all the way. "I can't accept such a fine gift," Gunnar said, still examining the cane. Walking stick, he corrected himself. 

"I heard you before. And of course you couldn't. I'm merely an intermediary, because you're newer to Vegas. Shall I have it charged to your account?"

"I wasn't aware I had an account." Gunnar set the cane upright and rested his hands on the handle.

Marjorie smiled. "Of course you have one, Doctor Volk. The Ponix of New Vegas can hardly carry free caps with him all day, can he?"

~ ~ ~

"Couldn't resist, could you?"

"No." Gunnar liked this new cane. It looked good and felt sturdier than the old one. It made him want to swagger. He couldn't, with a bad knee, and shouldn't, but dammit… "I like it."

"That's obvious. You better watch out or she'll find you a wife."

"That wouldn't work."

"That wouldn't work," Boone said in a mocking falsetto. "You were nearly drooling over that cane. A _cane._ "

"Look, it's nice, okay? And I can afford something like this once in a while. And it does help my leg, which I have to take care of so I'm not bedridden and helpless."

Boone snorted. "She'll find you a wife. Some proper society woman who wants to marry up."

"I'm with Arcade now."

"Like that'll stop her. She probably doesn't have a daughter of her own, or she'd set you two up on a date."

Gunnar decided not to respond, now matter how much he wanted to, because this argument wasn't going anywhere. "Anyway, she did help with something else. The White Gloves hired out a lot of printing, probably because they have money."

"So?"

"So it could be that some of them aren't happy about me busting in on their setup."

Boone shook his head. "Doesn't make sense. They've got way more to lose under the NCR, because of their cannibalism."

"Former cannibalism. They say."

"Yeah." Boone spoke as if he'd tasted picric acid. "If the NCR comes here, the Ultra-Luxe may get closed down, and the White Gloves driven out or worse."

"What about the Legion?" They paused to let a group of gawking tourists pass.

Boone thought about that for a couple of minutes. "I don't know," he said. "Seems like something the Legion would allow, but maybe they'd just say they were bad as anyone else and crucify them no matter what. The Legion's just evil enough to try it."

Gunnar wasn't sure about that, either, but Boone had a point: the Legion could easily promise one thing and deliver another, as they apparently had to many other tribes and peoples in their territory.

"What do you think about — " he began, but someone nearby said, "Hey! You're Mister Volk, aren't you? The guy on the posters?"

"I'm Dr. Volk, yes," Gunnar said, turning to face the speaker, and suddenly imagined a knife or a gun digging into his ribs and that would be that for the Ponix of New Vegas. But fortunately it was just a well-dressed tourist and his wife, both looking pleased as anything to meet with a genuine famous person.

"Doctor Volk! I said he was a doctor, honey," the wife said.

"Okay, dear, okay. You're the mayor of New Vegas?" the husband asked eagerly.

"I'm the Ponix of New Vegas," Gunnar said. "A mayor is an elected position. I was chosen by Mr. House, who previously ruled, to be his successor." Keep that story going. "And you are?"

They introduced themselves, and said where they were from — somewhere Gunnar had never heard of, but he said aloud that he had, and it was a fine place. That made them even happier, and Gunnar and Boone couldn't get away until Gunnar had signed one of the posters for them as a keepsake. At least it was one of the good posters.

"You were saying?" Boone said, when the tourists walked away.

Gunnar thought. "I don't remember. But it'll come back. How about lunch?"


	4. My Sugar is So Refined

Boone studied Gunnar, who'd started out eagerly enough on the tamales, but now chewed slowly and with eyes half-open. "Gunn?"

"Mm-hm?"

"I think we better go home."

Gunnar roused himself. "Something wrong?"

"You're tired."

"Yeah, but that's just needing food. These are pretty good. Y'know, tamales likely predated tortillas in terms of Central American staple foodstuffs in prehistory?" Gunnar still didn't look that awake.

"Uh-huh. Great. I'm taking you home."

"To meet your parents?" Gunnar joked.

"Yeah, you're going home. You're getting silly." Boone sniffed his own tamale, but if there was a drug or booze somehow in it, he'd never smell it over the chilies.

"Okay. Just for a rest. Still gotta talk to the Kings, an' the Graffs, and… I forget who else." Gunnar stuffed the rest of the tamale in his mouth and looked for a napkin, as usual, and also as usual, had to resort to wiping his hands on his jeans.

~ ~ ~

Arcade inspected the mail; another poison-pen note, this time declaring the city would burn, and the flames consume the so-called Ponix. Wasn't that nice. He'd picked up a lockbox today, with a working lock, to keep these things in, somewhere safe for later proof of malice aforethought, but not where Gunnar might see them. And it looked like Arcade had made the right decision, since whoever was sending these apparently had no intention of stopping.

"Hey! Blond guy that Mister Volk likes!"

Arcade jumped at Yes Man's aggressively cheerful voice from the wall speakers. "What! What the hell?"

"That's you, right? It's hard to tell without a camera in this hallway. Or in most of the rooms."

"So you can't tell who's where in this place?" Arcade began walking to the elevators. He didn't like the idea of Yes Man knowing where everyone was at all times.

"I could have Marilyn and Jane patrol the hallways!" Yes Man suggested. "They'd see everything and report back to me! Oh, and the guards, and — "

"Uh, no, no thank you," Arcade said. "I think Gunnar would have to approve that. Is he here? In the casino, I mean?"

"Yes he is! He's in the lounge, and wants you to come up for dinner!"

Dinner. Probably something from the kitchen or maybe something from a street vendor. Arcade hoped it wasn't tamales. Nothing against tamales per se, but chilies were variable and Arcade had had some bad experiences in the past. He didn't need a repeat of any of those, no thank you.

He first stopped at the penthouse level to hide the lockbox and drop off his coat, then went to the lounge. As soon as he stepped into it, he saw there had been changes. Some of the furniture had been moved, the lights were different from before, and there was now a semicircular booth looking out over the city. Gunnar sat there, and looked up at the sound of the elevator doors.

"There you are," he called. "I fixed up the lounge a little today." He waved at it with one hand; the other rested on a cane. "What do you think?"

"That explains the lights," Arcade said, walking to the booth. The lights were dimmer, that was it. "I hope you weren't moving tables."

"No. The staff helped me."

"You mean the robots?"

"The staff, yes. I hope you're hungry." Gunnar gestured for Arcade to take a seat in the booth. "Boone showed me this place today that has excellent tamales — "

Arcade forced himself to smile and nod.

" — and it got me thinking about food in general, you know, and I thought you might like to have food delivered tonight." He looked to the side and Arcade saw one of the "female" robots there. "Marilyn, would you bring dinner, please? Now that Arcade's here."

"Of course, Mister Volk." Robots couldn't sashay, but somehow she implied the attempt.

"They don't call you 'doctor'?" Arcade asked. He really hoped it wasn't tamales. Or, at least, make them low-heat and low-impact.

"Something to do with the original programming, I think," Gunnar said, turning back to him. "And I don't know programming, so I don't know how to fix it."

"You can't just tell them not to?"

"I think they don't want to. I think they like thinking of me as 'Mister Volk' after Mister House."

"But that's — " Arcade stopped as Marilyn and Jane returned with a tray apiece. They placed the trays before the two men, then Marilyn uncovered them while Jane retrieved and poured water for both. "Anything stronger for you, sir?" Jane purred to Arcade.

"Uh, yes please," he said, his mood improving instantly as he saw it was an actual meal from the Tops, brahmin steak and baked root vegetables and even a nice square of cornbread. "Red wine. Anything will do." He had no idea what Mr. House might have in the lounge, but red wine must be here somewhere.

"Anything else, sugar?" Marilyn asked Gunnar.

"No thank you, ladies. We'll call if we need anything."

"We'll be waiting." 

The two robots rolled away. Arcade watched them. "It's still strange to hear flirting from a robot," he murmured.

"It's how they were programmed. They can't help it." Gunnar began to cut his food, stopped, crossed himself and murmured something. "And part of how they're programmed is, they want to entertain and be of service. It makes them feel good to do so."

"They're still robots. They don't have feelings."

Gunnar shrugged. "We agree to disagree. I don't feel comfortable treating them like machines. They seem happier when I treat them like real people. At one time, I think they were real people. Flesh-and-blood people, I mean. I don't know if they're just emulations, but…" he shrugged again.

"And that's why you treat them like people?"

"It makes me feel better to treat them humanely and decently. There. Happy now?" Gunnar didn't sound angry, but maybe it was best to change the topic. 

Arcade didn't. "Okay. So what about, say, feral ghouls?"

"I haven't been able to have a real conversation with anything that attempts to kill me on sight."

"Fair enough." Arcade decided it was time to concentrate on the food. "Julie gave me some of the supplies to make up more stimpacks."

"She just gave them to you?"

"Why not? Pass the salt, please. We're all Followers, aren't we?"

"Sure, but I hope she gave them to you out of the goodness of her heart."

"If you're worried about how it'll look," Arcade said, "you've given the Followers plenty of medical supplies in the past. This was just getting a little of that back."

"I suppose," Gunnar said, in that tone of voice that he still didn't like it. 

"I worked on the stimpacks and whether I could improve them," Arcade continued. "Especially something that will get your knee back in shape." He glanced down at the cane and paused in cutting one of the vegetables. "That's not the one you had this morning."

"No. I bought a new one." Gunnar looked down proudly at it.

"That looks expensive."

"It is."

"What convinced you to buy it?"

"What, are you blind? Look at it!" Gunnar picked up the cane and held it horizontally in both hands. "Genuine cherry wood. You can't even get that here, because even though black cherry is native to North America, its range doesn't extend to the Southwest. It's black cherry, you see, not the fruiting cherry that people are familiar with as an edible orchard crop, though black cherry fruit _is_ edible and used for flavorings. Furthermore — "

"This isn't doing it for me like the city planning," Arcade remarked.

Gunnar stopped speaking and just looked at Arcade for a long moment. Arcade realized he'd gone too far.

"I'm sorry, it's been a long day," Arcade began.

"No, no, it's fine." Gunnar hooked the cane over the back of the booth and resumed eating in silence. 

"How was your day?" Arcade asked, when the silence had gone on a while. He wasn't used to Gunnar giving him, or anyone, the silent treatment, unless he was ill.

"Productive."

"Good. Good." He was probably sleeping on the couch tonight if he couldn't fix this. "Where'd you get the cane?"

"I got it after talking with Marjorie at the Ultra-Luxe." Gunnar finished eating and sat back.

"That's right, you planned to talk to all the gangs today. How'd that go?" Get him talking again.

Gunnar looked out the window at the glowing lights of the Strip. "Fine."

Arcade gritted his teeth. One tactic left. "I looked through the library at the Fort today. That kid from the Khans is there now helping out."

"Oh, good."

"He's smart, though not as smart as he thinks he is." Arcade drank some wine. "But it got me thinking. He can read, and understands poetry, sort of, because the Followers spent enough time with the Khans for him to learn. Of course there's the opportunity here too, but most kids here don't go to school. The NCR enforces it in their territory, but the Strip and the city are their own political unit."

"I already planned on schools, assuming the Followers are willing to jump start the program," Gunnar said. "But any qualified teachers are welcome."

"We need to make sure the kids attend, of course."

"I know what you're trying to do," Gunnar said. 

Arcade paused. Did he?

Gunnar sighed and looked out the window again. "The glass needs cleaning," he said. "But I don't know how to get that done."

"Was it ever done?"

"When the casino was running, and there were people in the lounge, of course everything was kept up. You can't imagine what that world was like. Things were cleaner, of course. Newer. Shiny. Even the parts that were run-down weren't as bad off as this. It must be like what happened after the Roman Empire fell."

"The old one, you mean?"

"Yeah." 

"I have seen pictures of what the world looked like," Arcade said. "It was what we came from. What we hoped to get back to."

"A cat and a picture of a cat aren't the same thing," Gunnar murmured. It sounded like a quote.

"You're not getting a cat next, are you?" Arcade asked.

Gunnar actually laughed. "No, I'm not," he said. "Just getting sentimental, I guess."

"You? Sentimental? Perish the thought," Arcade protested.

"True, I'm a cold-hearted murderer if you believe the posters," Gunnar said, but he smiled as he said it. "At least we haven't seen any more notes."

"Notes?"

"You know, that one that came in — that said he has my book and rings."

Arcade felt a stab of guilt over not mentioning those that had come in since, but it was for a good purpose, after all, not unduly distressing the Ponix over something he couldn't control. "Do you think he really does have them, whoever he is?"

Gunnar shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"It… doesn't?"

"It'd be nice to have my wedding rings back. But there are other things, in caches, that I can retrieve instead. And it's likely the book won't help them figure out very much."

"Oh. That's good, I suppose." Arcade slid a little closer on the booth seat to Gunnar. "How many rings did you have?"

"On me? Two. Armas had a different custom."

"Yours and David’s, then?" 

"Why are you asking? I didn't think you wanted to hear about them. My… I'm sure there's a word for deceased spouses, but I don't know what it is. My late partners."

"Well, you did say I reminded you of them, before you got your memory back. Is that still true?" Closer.

"Yeah. To a point. You're not exactly like either of them." Now Gunnar slid toward Arcade, Arcade put his arm across the back of the booth, and Gunnar fit neatly next to him. "Which is good, because it would be really, really weird if you were somehow them reincarnated."

"It'd be very crowded in my own head, I think." Arcade put his arm around Gunnar's shoulders. This was better, much better. 

Gunnar was rubbing his ring finger again, Arcade noticed. He might say he didn't care if he didn't get the rings back, but he missed them.

"You really loved them," Arcade said.

Gunnar nodded absently. 

Sooner or later Gunnar would fall in love again. Probably try to make it work again, some sort of polygamous… polyandrous… Multiple partnership. Arcade would have to decide what to do when that happened.

He realized his current partner was — "I'm sorry," Arcade said, and handed Gunnar one of the dinner napkins.

Gunnar took it and wiped the tears from his face and blew his nose. "S'okay," he said in a shaky voice. "I miss all of them. Until I remembered everything, I kept hoping they'd found another Vault. That they'd find me."

"I'm sorry," Arcade said again, because he was, and hugged Gunnar to him. 

"Thanks."

They watched the steady play of neon lights from the Strip.

"I suppose I should ask about your exes now," Gunnar said.

Arcade snorted. "Not really. One-night stands and short relationships don't make for compelling stories."

"Okay." Gunnar sounded relieved. 

"You don't have anyone's memory to live up to," Arcade reassured him. Which was what people generally wanted to hear. "King Under the Mountain."

"That's Doctor King Under the Mountain to you." Gunnar leaned upward and kissed Arcade's cheek.

"So what else did the Ponix get done today?" Since Gunnar was in a better mood.

"Talked with the Families, bought a new cane, found this great street place. Craig showed it to me, it's got fantastic tamales, we should go there sometime." Arcade winced inwardly but said nothing. "Then came back here, took a nap, and fixed up the lounge, since I thought you'd like a better class of takeout food. What with you always asking if we can order from the Tops. And yes, I paid for it. I'm starting a kleptocracy, yes, but not that kind."

"A kleptocracy, eh?"

"That's what most governments are, aren't they? They take tribute from the people — taxes. The only difference is in what they spend that tribute on. Do they lavish it on themselves, luxury, ostentatious living? Or do they use it to improve the community as a whole? I mean, you know which one I plan on."

"Aren't you using those same taxes to pay for the food and the cane?" Arcade asked.

"Yes, but I'm paying. I'm not just taking. I could take the taxes _and_ the goodies, but I don't. Besides, you forget I was awarded caps and other rewards for work I did around the Mojave. I've got that, too. Plus, potentially, anything I retrieve from the caches, though I don't know how useful some of that will be until the economy picks up significantly."

"Oh, Ponix, I love it when you discuss fiscal policy," Arcade purred, and they both laughed. "But, as your medical doctor, I suggest you get to bed so I can demonstrate my bedside manner," Arcade said.

"Aha, I knew it! My plan worked. Good food and wine and political discussion, and you can deny me nothing."

"If that gets you to bed, then that's what worked, yes." Arcade looked at the table. He didn't want to distract from the moment by cleaning up.

"I'll ask the girls to take care of the dishes," Gunnar said, sitting up and retrieving his cane. "Let's go to bed."


	5. All That Meat and No Potatoes

_The next day_

Diary:  
 _  
Feeling better today but still need the walking stick. That's fine, it's really a great piece of work. Spoke with the King, of the Kings, and at least they didn't base their religion or belief around strippers, I guess. I feel sorry for his dog though (Rex) and said I would try to help fix him. Armas would've done so. Maybe. Now that I think about it, he didn't want robots in the house, so… but maybe he would've felt sorry for a cyborg dog._

_Atomic Wrangler was semi closed when I went (they don't open until noon, it appears) so will go after lunch. Van Graffs v unhappy with me. They know about the lawsuit. Well too damn bad, I'm not the one who actually filed it, I just encouraged Cass to file it rather than start vigilante justice. But I did get all the papers Cass needed to file her suit._

_Had tamales again for lunch, at that new place. Arcade doesn't feel good so I'll take Cass with me to the Wrangler.  
_   
~ ~ ~

"Somehow that place is creepier than the Gomorrah," Gunnar said. He would have shoved his hands into his coat pockets, but there was the walking stick to consider.

"Oh, you just get freaked out so easily," Cass laughed. She was in a good mood after taking advantage of a few free drinks. "Mister I-Had-a-Whole-Harem can't deal with a cathouse-bar?"

"It wasn't a harem," Gunnar snapped. "I was married to two people. And I just don't like seeing," he waved his hand vaguely, "I'm not comfortable with all that."

"Poor Ponix. You did well, though."

"Don't patronize me, Cass." 

"Sure. So what's next?"

"How do you feel about going to pick up a robot brain for me?"

"Mm…" Cass pretended to think about it. "No, not feeling that today, boss. Anyway I have some stuff of my own to take care of."

"Oh, okay. Boone too?"

"No, you can send him." She smiled. 

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
Craig & Ver. going to pick up robot dog brain. Would love to do it myself because it sounds like there's all kinds of neat stuff at the junkyard where the brain is reputed to be. Gave them extra caps for movie holotapes or anything else that looks cool. _

_Leg still not 100% but improving._

_Turns out Cass and Craig are already done. Mutually OK with it. Fun fling one night stand kind of thing I guess? I don't know how people can do that. Anyway they're fine so I have no place to complain. I don't expect Craig and Veronica to get together tho. Cass is taking some time off. I suspect she's going to get hammered at the Wrangler but I can't really stop her from doing so._

_Audience chamber is almost done! Good. Too late for tramping all over town but at least it's done for future._

_Going to visit A's family tonight maybe? Not sure yet.  
_

~ ~ ~

"No more tamales." Arcade grimaced as he put his coat on.

"Sure. I'll take Cass next time. How far do we have to go?"

"It's not far, but it's in NCR territory." Arcade looked at Gunnar. "You'd better leave your barn gun behind."

"You don't think we'll need it?"

"It's distinctive. And you can't walk with the cane and carry the launcher at the same time."

Gunnar looked at the cane and the gun in turn. "You're right. Which one is less likely to get me identified as the Ponix?"

Arcade looked at the items as well. "How's your knee?"

"Better."

"And we're traveling in the dark. Take the old cane if you have to, and anything not as big as the barn gun."

~ ~ ~

Despite Arcade's warning, it wasn't pitch black out; between the city lights, the light reflecting off the clouds, and the lights of the different NCR buildings and complexes, they could navigate. They kept their heads and faces covered anyway.

"Even if Volk makes it through the battle," Gunnar said quietly, "how would he get the NCR out of the Mojave?"

"I don't know," Arcade said, equally quietly. "It's not like he has an army with him. Just the Strip. If the power and water ever get cut off, it'll be more than difficult to survive in the city. Everyone would have to leave."

"They'd have to go elsewhere. To the NCR or… whoever else."

"Well."

"Yeah."

They kept walking.

"I suppose the first order of business is to survive the war," Gunnar said.

"Mm. Yes."

"So who'm I meeting?" So far they hadn't run into anyone who'd questioned them or, for that matter, paid any real attention to them.

"Cannibal Johnson."

"Interesting name. Is that the one his parents gave him?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" 

"I'll do that."

"Oh, for — "

"Anything I should know before we knock on the door?" Gunnar asked.

"It's more of a cave. But Johnson…" Arcade stopped walking. Gunnar stopped too. They'd left the city behind, and no one was near. "If I had to pick anyone who didn't belong in the Enclave, it would definitely be Johnson. He hated what the Enclave was doing."

"Really. I thought everyone in the Enclave was, well…of a certain mindset."

"I know." Arcade kicked at a small rock. "Better than those poor mutated freaks left outside, right? Born of the best and destined to recover the world. Believe me, a lot of the Enclave's reputation is deserved. Johnson, though… Day to day, week to week, he would question orders, subvert mission objectives, do anything he could to serve without serving."

"A strange set of behavior for someone raised in party ideology." If Johnson had been part of the group with Arcade's father, and the Enclave didn't allow anyone in from "outside", then Johnson's nonconformist behavior must have stuck out like a neon light.

"It's amazing he was never court-martialed," Arcade agreed. "But he survived, then and now. I hope he's survived this long."

And what had Arcade's father been like? Arcade had never known the man, but surely his mother and the old soldiers could have told him. Or maybe there was a reason they hadn't. Might be best not to bring it up. 

~ ~ ~

They'd knocked politely on the cave door — yes, a door set far back in a cave — early enough that it wasn't too late to visit. Cannibal Johnson looked older than Gunnar expected, but desert life, and this ruined world, aged people quickly. Arcade introduced them, they shook hands, and Gunnar asked, "So, Cannibal Johnson — is that a Spanish name, or — ?" He could sense Arcade cringing.

Johnson laughed. "Don't tell me you came out here all this way to ask about my name."

"I'll bet there's an interesting story behind it. That's not the kind of name casually bestowed."

"I might say the same about yours, Gunner Folk. C'mon in." Johnson waved them inside the cave, dimly lit except for some small lamps and a fire. The ceiling was high enough that the place didn't get smoky. They took seats at an old picnic table near the fire; inside the cave it was pleasantly warm.

"Gunnar Volk really is my name," Gunnar said. 

"Uh-huh. And Cannibal's mine. So what're you really here for?"

Gunnar leaned forward, arms on the scarred table. "You know there's a war coming between the NCR and the Legion."

"Yeah, they're about due for another dustup. So, you're going to get yourself involved in that?"

Gunnar took a deep breath. "I'm gathering allies to keep the Legion from taking Hoover Dam, or invading this area. But I'm doing it on behalf of Vegas and myself. The Legion's evil, and I don't trust the NCR enough to not treat the Mojave like a buffer state. So I'm fighting for a free and independent Vegas and Mojave."

"Uh-huh. And why're you talking to me, of all people?"

"Arcade recommended I gather the others — what remains hereabouts of the Enclave. You've got experience and knowledge I could use."

"In other words, you need all the allies you can get, so you're down to us."

"I wouldn't put it exactly like that," Gunnar said, sitting back. "I do need all the allies I can get. Arcade vouches for all of you. I don't have any animosity toward the Enclave."

"Oh, you don't, don't you? I hear them calling you the Ponix of the Wasteland now, on the radio."

"I call myself the King Under the Mountain, too, but I have no ill will toward you. Arcade wouldn't have trusted me if I did."

"Hm."

Johnson got up to put another small log on the fire. He returned and said, "So, you want us to fight for you, is that it?"

"That's it, sir."

"Sir!" Johnson barked in laughter. "I'm no officer."

"What did you do in the Enclave?" Gunnar asked.

"Squad marksman. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I never killed a single soul who wasn't trying to kill me or one of my team first."

Another sniper, Gunnar thought. "You should be proud. Especially in war, that's not easy to do."

"We weren't always at war. With enemies, I mean. Sometimes… well, civilian casualties were acceptable and sometimes… encouraged. My former squadmate Moreno didn't need encouraging."

"But you didn't. That makes you a very honorable man, Johnson."

"And what's it gotten me now? Hunted by the NCR, the Brotherhood and anyone else with a mind to violence, and when you got here, I thought it might be the Reaper finally coming to collect me."

"You can't be as old as that, surely."

Johnson laughed again, but without the bluster of earlier. "There's a twitch in my trigger finger, I've lost my eagle eyes, and the other day I could've sworn I heard Sergeant Dornan chewing me out. I'm old and I'm starting to feel it. It's not pleasant, especially when you know your mind's slipping away. We all gotta go sometime, but I was hoping for something a little more heroic."

"Then come with us," Gunnar urged. "You know the Legion will strike soon. Fight beside me."

~ ~ ~

Arcade spoke little during the next hour, letting Gunnar and Johnson talk about old times: Johnson's time in the Enclave as part of the Devil's Brigade, the escape from Navarro, and searching for safety in the Mojave. Gunnar kept the conversation going, and seemed genuinely interested. Of course he would be, Arcade thought. Historian. Johnson and the other Enclave remnants were the last of that organization. This was a final chance to tell their stories and be heard. Gunnar would be writing a lot tonight, Arcade guessed. He shouldn't be the only one recording it; they should be remembered.

Yet Johnson mentioned little about Arcade's father. Nobody ever had. By now, Arcade wasn't sure if he should ask. They always told him his father had been a good man, that they were somewhat alike. That was all. 

"The truth of it is, that I did cut out a raider's heart, but only took a bite to mess with his buddies," Johnson was saying. He and Gunnar laughed over the story; Arcade felt a little ill. He didn't know how Gunnar could just… not be sickened by cannibalism, could even joke about it. "They had me surrounded and I went with the first thing that came to mind. Some ran, and the rest were startled just long enough."

Gunnar laughed with him. "That's fantastic. Talk about the element of surprise!" 

"Hell, it worked, didn't it?" 

"And if it works, that's what matters. You're still here to tell the story," Gunnar said. "So why not come with us? One last chance. And if we all survive at the end, I promise, I won't turn you away."

"That's a big promise to make." Johnson eyed him.

"I don't forget those who help me," Gunnar said simply.

"All right, I'm in." Johnson held out his hand, and Gunnar shook it. "Where do we meet?"

"At the bunker," Arcade said. "We still have to talk to a couple of the others."

"All right, I'll meet you there."


	6. Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief

"You're awfully quiet," Gunnar said. He and Arcade were walking back to Vegas.

"I'm thinking."

"Anything you want to share?"

"I don't know."

"Okay."

They walked on.

After several minutes, Arcade cleared his throat. "My father died when I was young," he said. "I don't know much about him, other than he was an officer."

"Mm."

"It's pointless, I know, but sometimes I wonder what he wanted me to be."

"Pointless?"

Arcade gave Gunnar a strange look. "Because he's dead, of course. So is my mother, and I never thought to ask her, either."

"Mm."

"Maybe being a doctor in the middle of Nevada wasn't exactly what he had in mind for his little boy." Arcade brushed at his face.

"Why worry about it?" Gunnar asked, his tone flat. "You don't have to be your father."

"Something wrong?" Arcade's voice had an edge to it.

Gunnar took Arcade's hand as they walked. "Most parents have plans for their kids, or maybe hopes is a better word," he said. "My kid will be an athlete. My kid will be president. My kid will be a _real_ doctor. But we have to make our own way in the world as we grow up. I love the past, I love history, but one thing about it, is learning that sooner or later, everything changes, and we don't have control over it.

"Besides, Navarro had already been attacked before you were born, right? Most of them left. Just your father and the Devil's Brigade and some others stayed on."

"You remembered," Arcade said.

"History, right? And you know what? I bet before Navarro, your father had hopes for you. My kid will be an officer like me. Or a scientist that changes the world. Or the one who leads us back to our glory days. And then Navarro came and all those hopes were gone."

"Are you trying to cheer me up? I'm asking seriously."

"No, just pointing out that at the end of the day, whatever their plans, most parents just want their children to be safe and happy." Gunnar squeezed Arcade's hand. "Because in your case, that might've been all he could hope for. That you'd be safe and happy. The Enclave is dead here. If you managed to avoid the NCR, avoided being arrested and detained because of where you were born, and are making a difference? I think both your parents would be happy with that."

They walked hand in hand without speaking for a while.

"I'll always feel like something is missing from my life," Arcade said at last. "But you're right. It's not like I'm the only kid in the wasteland who's grown up without a dad. Lots of them have. Some without any parents or family."

"Mm."

"Johnson always said my father was a good man," Arcade continued. "If that's the only thing about me that's like him, that's enough for me."

Gunnar smiled at him, and Arcade managed to smile back.


	7. Hellhound On My Trail

Gunnar stayed up late, writing everything he could remember about Johnson's story. He had to ask the others, too, because there might not be time soon enough. Either the battle, or simply old age, would happen and then that piece of history would be gone forever.

"You need a typewriter," Arcade yawned. He'd half fallen asleep on the couch next to the desk where Gunnar wrote in his diary.

"Can I get one here?"'

"Probably… then the ribbon, and the paper."

"Old manual typers. Makes sense. Or I could try to record it through one of the computers here, but… given the current situation, I feel it's a little safer like this."

"Not if anyone reads it."

"I'm not writing in English."

Arcade opened both eyes at that. "Not Latin, I hope."

"Ha! No. I don't think I remember enough of that to write it properly."

"You speak it."

"I learned it for my research, so I could go back to original sources, but I haven't used it significantly in some years." Gunnar set down his pen and stretched his arms wide. "I never thought I'd need it because of a madman with a taste for history."

"So what did you write it in?"

"That's for me to know." Gunnar closed the diary. "And I also know that you're a decent sort who wouldn't stoop to reading someone else's diary."

"Foiled before I had a chance to even think it." Arcade yawned again. "Let's get to bed."

~ ~ ~

"You're going to burn."

Gunnar looked around the Vault. It was so empty, except for all the plants, and the whispers that might be insects or might be ghosts talking through the speakers. "No, we can set off the explosives here, from a distance, and take cover — "

"Burn," the voice repeated, and it wasn't Boone's. Gunnar looked up to see the landscape stabbed with crosses, bodies writhing in agony upon them. The Legion soldier with the coyote headdress held a torch at the ready.

Gunnar backed into something. He looked up to see a huge tree; but it was made of bones, and hair hung from the calcified branches like Spanish moss. His friends, his partners, all hung lifeless in the tree.

"It's hard to burn bone," the Legion soldier said, showing all his teeth. "Do you know how hot the fire has to be?"

"Gunnar, wake up. Wake up."

Arcade's voice cut through, and Gunnar was caught between realities for a moment, until he oriented himself back to the nighttime room at the Lucky 38, and the tree of the dead and the soldier tore apart like wet paper. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Not really, but close enough. "Just a bad dream."

"Nightmare, more like." Arcade held him close. "You were talking. Loudly."

Gunnar said nothing, letting the dream fade. Let it go, don't try to remember it. Focus on the now, in a nice bed, safe in the 38, safe and sound.

~ ~ ~

"Where're we going today?" There was no coffee today. Gunnar didn't know how much was actually left in the 38's kitchen storage and was afraid to find out, so he hadn't ordered coffee with breakfast. 

"Westside."

"Freeside, Westside, try an ice-cold Meisterbrew, it's just the thing you want to drink..." Gunnar sang. He stopped abruptly when he saw Arcade's look. "Sorry. I heard it as a kid, on one of those old retrospectives? It's a beer commercial. It's… Okay, so, Westside."

"Yes," Arcade said slowly, then shrugged and moved on. "It's not far, and Westside has its own militia. They're not happy with the NCR either."

"Water wars?"

"Not quite, but definitely skirmishes and threats. How'd you guess?"

"Water's critical to life, and the NCR controls the dam and thus the water. One of your family lives there?"

"Yes. The Followers also have an outpost there. That'll be our excuse. Wear your lab coat."

~ ~ ~

"Kreger's very reasonable," Gunnar said. After talking with Judah Kreger, he and Arcade had stopped in Westside for drinks that might once have glanced at a coffee advertisement, and tasted like boiled roots.

"He'd have to be, to keep Johnson and Moreno in the same unit. They couldn't stand each other. Differences in opinion on how to deal with civilians, mostly." Arcade tasted his drink and shrugged. "This isn't bad, for Westside."

"I'd hate to find out what's really bad." Still, it was warm. "Moreno's next then. And that's it?"

Arcade drained his cup and shook his head. "One more," he said. "But we'll talk to Moreno first."

~ ~ ~

Moreno was more of a problem than the others. Johnson and Kreger had wanted one last chance. Even Daisy Whitman had grasped at the opportunity to fly one more time. Moreno, though…

"Nothing better than hosing down a target with an excess of bullets and laser fire. By the time I got through with things, not much was left standing. Any morons who didn't run when they saw me coming got what they deserved," Moreno growled. "Back then, it was war. If we'd been on the winning side, I'd be called a hero."

"History is written by the winners," Gunnar quoted. "But don't you want to show them wrong?"

"I'm not helping the fucking NCR! Not after everything they've taken from me."

"I'm not with the NCR," Gunnar said. "They suspect me of being Enclave. They'd love a chance to take me down."

"You're not Enclave," Moreno snorted. "You couldn't be Enclave on a good day. I've heard what you're trying to do."

"And what's that?"

"Make Vegas even more of a sin city than it already is."

"That'd be hard to do," Gunnar said thoughtfully. "Especially as I'm sure there are some iniquities I don't know about yet. But honestly, sir, I just want to get the NCR off everyone's back, and keep the Legion off our doorstep."

"And you think you can do that?"

"I think it's criminal for me not to try."

Moreno glared at him. The dusty cabin made it hard to see subtleties of expression, and Arcade had already sneezed once during the conversation; but a glare wasn't hard to figure out. Then Moreno grinned, and it wasn't friendly, but he said, "All right. I'll come along to the reunion, just to see what's really going on. But I swear, you bring the NCR into this and there'll be hell to pay."

"Understood." Gunnar offered his hand, which Moreno took after a long moment. "I'll see you there, sir."


	8. The Nearness of You

"You said one more," Gunnar said, halfway back to the 38.

"Right. But for that, we need a dog brain."

"I hope you mean the one we're supposed to take to Doc Henry, and not a meaty dog brain."

"Exactly. Doc Henry’s the one we need to talk to,” Arcade said, “and back with his original place of work, he specialized in cyberdogs. So it's a great excuse to visit him, getting that Kings cyberdog fixed up. It'll probably be pretty cold, though."

"Yeah? You know I'm okay with the cold."

"It's likely to have snow."

Gunnar smiled. "It's been a long time since I saw snow. This could be fun. Assuming no enemies, of course."

"There probably are some," Arcade sighed. "But maybe they'll all want to stay inside and out of the cold. We can hope. For what hope's worth."

"So we have to wait until Boone and Veronica return with the dog brain," Gunnar said. "We've got some time to kill."

"Yes we do." Arcade could think of a few nice ways to spend it, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Gunnar continued: "I'd like to stop in at the Fort and visit the Followers. I know you've been there, but it wouldn't be a bad thing for me to check in too, since I was inducted."

"Were you always this focused?" Arcade asked, falling in step with Gunnar as they walked in the direction of the Old Mormon Fort.

"Before I died, you mean?"

"Yes. And I suppose focused isn't the right word. Driven."

"Are you kidding? I've walked more since I came out of the Vault than I ever did in my life," Gunnar said.

"I'm not joking," Arcade said. "Driven like the old meaning, which I'm sure you know. As if you were being whipped to make you work harder."

"My father chastised you with whips," Gunnar quoted, "I shall chastise you with scorpions. You know, I remember that part, but not which king that was? I remember the answer, too; the tribes went into the hills and there was civil war. 'To your tents, O Israel!' Now I wish I could look up which one that was." He saw Arcade's startled look. "I have no intention of using whips or scorpions, don't worry. I was just reminded of that."

"And avoiding the subject."

Gunnar stopped walking and faced Arcade. "What's to avoid? There's a war coming, after all. I can't stop it, so the best I can do is — " he stopped short. 

"Is?" Arcade prompted, when it seemed Gunnar wasn't going to continue.

"Let's go somewhere," Gunnar said, more gentle than before. "You've been in Vegas a long time, you must know of someplace to take someone."

Arcade used the almost-distraction of a couple of kids and their dog running nearby to pause before answering. 

"I thought you wanted to visit the Followers," he said at last.

"Well, you're right. I've been too focused lately. This upcoming war and trying to get things together… and I, I forgot about you."

Arcade raised an eyebrow. "Funny, I've been by your side this whole time."

“You know what I mean.” Gunnar rubbed his forehead. "Look, the war and all, and — I'm not trying to ignore you." He looked off to one side. "I guess I understand better now how he felt."

"How who felt?" Arcade stepped closer. Some passersby pointed: was that the Ponix of New Vegas?

"David. He was trying to prevent a war, too. That's why he wasn't there when," Gunnar took a deep breath, "when I went into the Vault."

"History repeats itself," Arcade said.

"Yeah. At least we know enough to recognize it," Gunnar said. "For good or bad." He smiled and waved to the passersby. 

"I think we should find somewhere less public to talk," Arcade said.

"Couldn't agree more. Hello there! Can I help you?"

"Are you Gunner Volk? The Ponix?" a woman asked.

Arcade waited while Gunnar greeted his admirers, signed some autographs and made small talk before he could extricate himself from the growing crowd. "You should've worn a hat," Arcade said, as they made their way back to the 38. 

"It's nice out. But… maybe that's what I need to do."

"It wouldn't be hard for someone to take a swipe at you," Arcade pointed out. "Or a shot." He looked at their surroundings; nothing unusual so far. He hoped it stayed that way.

"Yeah. I… need to make some backup plans, I think."

Arcade looked sharply at Gunnar. "In case something happens to you?"

"It's just good to have extra plans. That's all. And like you said, let's get somewhere less public before I say more."

~ ~ ~

At the 38, there was a further delay while Gunnar met with Raul and then talked with every ghoul worker there, and reviewed the final stages of the reception room. When Gunnar finally went looking for Arcade, he found the doctor in the kitchen, arranging drinks in the fridge.

"Is it working?" Gunnar asked.

Arcade gave him a look. "Of course not. Not unless you found a source of the chemicals to make it work."

"Then you're…"

"Keeping busy while you deal with your public. Which I should expect. You're the Ponix, and after the war you'll be extra famous, and I'll have to share you with them." Arcade straightened and pressed his hands to his lower back.

"But it takes getting used to?" Gunnar said with sympathy.

"Yes. It does."

"I know how you feel. I'm sorry."

"Do you? This has happened before?"

"Let me rub your back, it might help." Gunnar stood behind Arcade and began rubbing the small of Arcade's back. "When I was teaching and researching, no. I wasn't in high demand like this. David's job kept him busy. Away from us for long periods of time. Sometimes it was easy to get angry about it. But he was a career man. He…" Gunnar sighed. "He tried to stay in one place, and he could do it for a while, but then he got antsy and when the call came in for him to go to work, he went."

"Career man, huh? Thanks, that feels good."

"You're welcome. And yeah. He would be gone for weeks, or months, and… when he came back, he had a hard time adjusting." Gunnar let his hands fall, and watched Arcade roll his shoulders and straighten up. "And then, sooner or later, he'd get the next call… That's how we got into the Vault. He got reservations for us."

"So what happened?"

"I told you, he didn't make it in time. We knew there was a chance that would happen. So Armas and I went to get in the Vault, and…" Gunnar crossed his arms tightly.

"And you went into the Vault alone," Arcade said. "Armas was scared of the Vault."

"That's…" Gunnar waggled his fingers. "Basically true. Every time David left, it was… ‘look, I know why you have to do this, but then you leave and you're gone for ages, and can you tell them no once in a while?’ And the answer was no, he couldn't." Gunnar hugged himself. "And then Armas and I had to get used him being there or not being there, and when he came back he had to get used to civilian life again, and…" 

Civilian life. Based on that, and David getting Vault space for all three of them — he was probably military, Arcade guessed. And he'd been trying to stop the war. Maybe even Enclave? He wasn’t going to ask. Gunnar would have said so, if he knew.

"So I know how it must be, from that side," Gunnar was saying. "I didn't realize I'm doing the same thing."

"You're not," Arcade said. "You're running a city, more or less. Being a politician."

"Gee, thanks." But Gunnar was still smiling, if sadly. "I just forgot about my favorite constituent for a while."

"I thought I was to be secretary of the interior."

Gunnar moved close and put his arms around Arcade, then rested his head on Arcade's shoulder. "Whatever you'll be. I hadn't realized how easy it is to get caught up in the whole mess."

"It's understandable." Arcade patted Gunnar's back. "At least nobody's tried to kill you yet today."

"There is that. That's a good thing."

They stood like that a little while, before Gunnar straightened up. "Thanks," he said.

"Of course. Anything to keep the Ponix going." Arcade's stomach growled, and they both chuckled. "I could use something to keep me going, too."

Gunnar kissed him. "That'll have to keep you until dinner," he said, "which I'll take care of now. D'you have any preferences?"

"You, me, and room service?"

They kissed again. "Nice try, but I have to get food for Raul's workers. This is the last day and I wanted to send them off with a meal," Gunnar said. "It'd be nice if you joined us, would-be Secretary of the Interior."

"As long as I don't have to eat tamales, I will."


	9. I'm Tickled Pink

Mama Ria looked over the little kitchen. Everyone needs food, she knew that. That is obvious. People buy food, but they eat it so they need to buy more food. As true for her family as for anyone else alive. Even ghouls forgotten by God had to eat. 

But to make food to sell, you needed money to buy ingredients, and anything that didn't sell by the end of the day went to feed the family because you didn't waste food, and New Vegas had not turned into the moneymaking opportunity she had hoped. She had to pay the bribes for protection, she had to buy the ingredients, she had to pay the devil's water tax just to get clean water to make the food. They were barely scraping by.

But she would not return to Valdez. Mama Ria would have spat, but this was a kitchen. No, she would not return. She — 

Mama Ria heard talking out front, Hector dealing with a customer, and she hoped he wasn't being the lazy idiot again. She looked up as Hector came to see her. "[What is it?]" she asked.

"[Tia Ria, a man wants to buy a lot of tamales.]"

"[How many?]"

Hector told her. Mama Ria's eyes widened and she bustled to the front of her little open-air shop. The man stood there, red hair faintly glinting in the light from the signs. "You want how many tamales?" she said. "Right now?"

"Tonight, yes, please," the man said. "I have a lot of workers to feed tonight. It's the last day of work and I wanted to treat them. I love your tamales," he said, and smiled. He had all his teeth and in good condition too, straight and almost white. 

Mama Ria thought quickly. Lots of tamales. It would take all her ingredients and then some. But it was a big order, and it could pay off. "You need beer, too?" she asked. It was a risk, but could also pay off. "I can get you local beer, real beer, not the old stuff."

His face lit up. "That'd be great! Two beers per person, plus the tamales…" They haggled over the pricing, but he didn't haggle much, and Mama Ria was glad of that, because she needed to make a profit on this, and what a profit it would be!

"Where do they go?" she asked.

"The Lucky 38, please. Just go to the front door and tell the Securitron there that you've got the dinner order. He'll take care of it from there."

Mama Ria paused. The Lucky 38. That's where the new boss, the Ponix, lived. She looked at the friendly man before her. The Ponix had red hair. Holy Virgin of Guadalupe, it was probably him. 

She bent over the scrap of paper with her notes on the amount of food. "And how will you pay?"

"What do you take?"

He paid with a mix of pre-war money, NCR scrip, and caps, half up front just as she asked, the other half to be paid on delivery. They agreed upon a time, the earliest time Mama Ria thought she could get that many cooked.

She smiled at the Ponix, promised the food and drink would be there, and as soon as she judged he was far enough away, pinched Hector's ear.

"Ow! Tia Ria — "

"[Be quiet and listen to me. Run to your mother and tell her we need all the beer she has. Tell her — no — ]" she scribbled on another paper scrap. "[Give her this, tell her we need that many bottles by that time.]" She thrust the paper into Hector's hand. "[Go!]" She gave Hector a good shove. He had nothing between his ears but brahmin brains, and not much of those, just like his good-for-nothing father. "[Angela! Start making tamales!]"

Angela was quicker on the uptake and had already begun on the dough while Mama Ria talked with the Ponix. "[Yes, Mami!]" she said. "[And I sent Julio to get more meat.]"

"[Good girl!]" Mama Ria beamed. This could be the turning point for them. The Ponix, buying a large order, and he might do it again! No, wait… he said this was the last day for his workers. But he'd also said he loved her tamales. 

She looked at the money, the down payment. They'd have to use some of it just to get this order filled, but there would be some left over. So many things they could spend it on, but Mama Ria would not spend it casually. Not a windfall like this. 

~ ~ ~

"Tamales?"

Gunnar could hear the cringe in Arcade's voice. "Don't worry, I got something else for you," he said. "You won't starve or suffer stomach upset." He gestured for Arcade to take a seat. Gunnar had "borrowed" an empty building and with enough upright tables, chairs and desks, there were plenty of places to sit and eat. The tamales and beer were already going over very well with the workers and Gunnar's friends.

"Okay, so what did you get me?" Arcade asked.

Gunnar handed him a battered metal lunchbox. Arcade opened it and looked inside.

"Lizard and onions," Gunnar said, unable to keep the surprise any longer.

~ ~ ~

"…and that was 'Pennies From Heaven' by Bing Crosby, from the movie of the same name. Bing Crosby insisted on Louis Armstrong's presence in the film and fourth billing in the credits. In a moment we'll listen to selections from _Bing & Satchmo._ Changes are coming to New Vegas, listeners, and change can be scary, but it can also be good. I think some of these changes will benefit the city and its inhabitants. This segment is brought to you by Mama Ria's Tamales in New Vegas. Visit Mama Ria for the best tamales in the region — Gunnar Volk, the Ponix of New Vegas, says they're his favorites. And now, this next song…"

"[Did you hear that, Mami?]" Angela said. "[Now people will know we have the best tamales, and come to try them!]"

"[The Virgin be willing,]" Mama Ria said. "[That cost money, paying the radio man to say that.]"

"[But it's worth it, Mami. Trust me.]"

Mama Ria hugged her daughter. Angela was the smart one, her angel. If Hector had suggested it, Mama Ria would have smacked him in the head and told him to go away. But if Angela said it was a good idea, Mama Ria would trust her. "[We'd better be ready tomorrow,]" she said. "[Just in case.]"


	10. Key to the Highway

“How was your dinner?" Gunnar asked, as he and the others walked back to the 38.

"Not as bad as I expected," Arcade admitted, picking something out of his teeth. "Downright tender, in fact."

"See? I said you wouldn't starve." Gunnar clapped him on the back.

"Hey, we should see if there's any mail. I haven't looked lately."

"Because I've been dealing with it," Arcade said.

Gunnar stopped short. "What? You're reading my mail?"

"Most of it isn't private," Arcade said. "And you said it yourself, we still don't have a secretary."

"Yes, but…" Gunnar began walking again.

"Yes, but nothing. You're busy, we don't have anyone we can trust to deal with it, so I'm dealing with it." And weeding out the threatening notes in the process. "You trust me, right?"

He meant it as a half joke, but when Gunnar didn't respond right away, Arcade looked to see him apparently deep in thought. "You have to think about it?" Arcade asked, aggrieved.

"Yes," Gunnar said.

"Good to know what level of trust I deserve," Arcade muttered. "If you had a secretary, it wouldn't be private to them, either."

"It's not that. I do trust you. I just didn't think of it like this. That if anything does come in — have there been any more of those notes?"

"Notes? You mean, like that first one?" Arcade asked, hoping he could think of a good answer.

"No, I mean love notes sent by my legions of fans. Of course I mean the first one, the death threat."

By now they were back in the casino, and Arcade deliberately steered himself and Gunnar to the back of the first floor. "Well… Yes," he admitted. 

"When did you plan to tell me about them?"

"When I had any more information on who sent them," Arcade improvised. "Threats by themselves don't mean anything. We already know you're targeted."

"And do you have that information?" Gunnar asked.

"…No. I can show you the notes, but there's nothing to go on until we get more."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar reviewed the notes without speaking.

"They're all from book pages," Arcade said, "which only indicates that the writer had access to some old books. He probably chose the title pages because they're almost blank."

"He?"

"I'm guessing it's a man. Maybe it isn't. I think the odds are good that it is, however."

"It's as good an assumption as any," Gunnar said. "Especially if it's Legion. Which if might be. They're being clever enough to not leave clues." He flipped the pages over to look at the backs. "You're right, though. There's really nothing to go on except someone hates me very much. And there are plenty of suspects and motives." He handed the pages back to Arcade. "Let me know if any more come in."

~ ~ ~

Later that night, when Arcade was deep asleep, Gunnar left the bed and went to Yes Man's console. It was easy to talk to Yes Man, but he could be loud, and Gunnar wanted things quiet right now. He extended the keyboard and began typing.

_> Yes Man, please respond only on-screen to my typing._

_> >OKAY DR. VOLK!_

_> Yes Man, please don't use all caps. It's like shouting._

_> >okay dr volk_

Gunnar narrowed his eyes at the big smiling face on the screen.

_> >Just Trying To Lighten The Mood, Dr. Volk._

— appeared next.

_> No more being silly. Please pay attention._

Gunnar paused, thinking how best to phrase the next part. 

_> >Is Something Wrong, Dr. Volk? _

Gunnar almost spoke out loud, but remembered to type instead.

_> No, nothing's wrong. Did Mr. House ever have a contingency plan? A backup plan for someone to take over in case something happened to him?_

_> >No, Dr. Volk. He Liked Being In Control Of Everything. The Only Reason He Ever Slept Was Because It's Necessary For Living Creatures To Sleep Periodically. Otherwise He Was In Control, Always._

That matched up with the brief time Gunnar had known the man. Mr. House wouldn't have an obvious successor. He had Benny lined up to do errands, and then Gunnar… but no plans in case something had happened to him personally. 

Which seemed foolish of Mr. House, or perhaps it was just pride. He'd outlived everyone else, in his capsule-tomb. Why wouldn't he stay in power?

Gunnar rubbed absently at his scar as he thought. He couldn't take that kind of risk. He had plenty of enemies, some with more resources than others, and he only had to be unlucky once. He typed:

_> I want to set up a contingency plan in case of my demise or capture. _

_> >Sure Thing Dr. Volk!_

Gunnar typed for a long time before finally returning to bed.


	11. I Get a Kick Out of You

"Did His Cleanliness stay up all night?"

Gunnar rolled his eyes behind their lids and pulled the cover over his head.

"If I didn't know better, I'd wonder what secretive things you were up to, that made you sleep in so much," Arcade continued.

"I get it," Gunnar said from under the cover. 

"You weren't placing presents around the room this time. So what was it?"

Gunnar uncovered his face and propped himself up on one arm. "Couldn't sleep and I got some work done instead." He yawned and rubbed one eye with the heel of his free hand. "I didn't sneak out anywhere, if you're checking up on me."

"No. I just wanted to give you a hard time." Arcade sat on the bed and patted Gunnar's tousled hair.

"Yeah, I know what kind of a hard time you want to give me." Gunnar pulled him down onto the bed, and they wrestled for a minute before making out.

"Is this the plan for today?" Arcade asked, as they cuddled afterward. "I don't mind this at all."

"You never do."

"It's all those years of loneliness, waiting for you."

"Nice talk, but if Craig and Veronica get that dog brain back here, I want to head out to Doc Henry as soon as we can." Gunnar sat up and kicked the tangled blanket from his legs. 

"Yes, yes, the war."

"And the fact that your family aren't exactly spring chickens, and the NCR is going to crack down on my whereabouts at some point." 

Now Arcade sat up as Gunnar stood and looked for clothes for the day. "You don't know that they'll do that."

"I would, if I were them. I'd want someone keeping an eye on me at all times. They have the manpower to do it, too. I only have so long before they start checking on everyone in the area around the city." Gunnar pulled on yesterday's T-shirt and then a sweater over it.

Neither spoke, as Arcade also got out of bed and Gunnar finished dressing.

"We could hide your hair," Arcade suggested. "Get some shoe polish, blacken it — it's a joke. Really."

"Leaving aside that that's still a possible tactic, I don't know if it would fool anyone," Gunnar said. "I look different."

"True. You're healthier, had a well-fed childhood, all your teeth are straight and intact, and you hold yourself differently than everyone else." 

"Much like — hey, that's a thought," Gunnar said, standing upright. "We could dye _your_ hair. Then you could be my double." He laughed as Arcade visibly recoiled. "What, better dead than red, is that it?"

"No, not at all. I just have an aversion to getting killed on your behalf. I may love you, but I don't know that I would go that far."

Gunnar sobered. "There is that," he admitted. "And I don't hold it against you."

"That's a relief." Arcade came to put a hand on Gunnar's shoulder. "I'd like to say I'd die for you, but — "

"No, no, I understand. I'm not sure I could do it either." Gunnar smiled at him and put a hand on Arcade's. "If we survive, we've got plenty of years together, and I want to survive."

"Good. A strong survival instinct is mandatory in today's world. Which brings us back to, preventing assassination attempts using body doubles, which I will not volunteer for, thank you."

"No, it was just a joke. Anyway I'm sure they'd be too smart to figure that out."

"You never know."


	12. Four Legged Friend

Diary:  
 _  
It's been a few days since I wrote, so let me catch up with things._

_Spending our last night in Jacobstown. We met with Doc Henry, who agreed to work on Rex, and I helped him with some of his experiments, in a very "go here and get this" sort of way. He also agreed to join with the others in the upcoming engagement. Arcade and I had a discussion that evening (just us 2) about the relative merits of knowledge for its own sake vs having an end goal in mind and working toward that goal. It's so nice to have someone I can talk to about things like that._

_Then there's Lily, who is a nightkin super mutant, and who seems to think I'm one of her grandkids, maybe, or… something. Anyway she's very nice — makes me wish she really was a grandmother for me — I never knew mine._

_Rex is now looking and acting much better. We'll take him home to the King, and having done that favor, I intend to ask him to support me in the upcoming war and afterward. I think he will. He seems favorably inclined toward me anyway, since I'm trying to save New Vegas from its many threats._

_Also! At Jacobstown they had a bunch of holotapes and records! We're taking back as many as we can carry (no brahmin here) to Vegas. I'll keep the movies but I think I'll give the records to Mr. New Vegas so he's got something new to put on the radio._

_There's snow here! Actual snow! Enough to do snow angels and throw snowballs. I didn't do either because I didn't want anyone thinking the wrong thing — though I don't know how they could from throwing snowballs. Armas, you would have liked it  
_   
~ ~ ~

Gunnar paused. Armas would have liked the snow. And having a dog around. Though what he would've thought of Lily… well, it didn't matter now. Somewhat more somber now, he continued writing.

~ ~ ~  
 _  
Jacobstown is a town of super mutants and nightkin, and Doc Henry and his assistant Calamity. It's really good to see how things are up here, that they've achieved a peaceful community. After the war, I hope we can make contact and trade somehow.  
_   
~ ~ ~

A furry head appeared, interrupting Gunnar's writing. "Rex, don't drool on my diary," Gunnar said, closing the book. "You're feeling better now, are you?" He ruffled the dog's neck fur. "Ready to go home? We'll get you home, don't worry, fella."

~ ~ ~

"I'm surprised you didn't ask that nightkin to come with you," Arcade said.

"Very funny." Gunnar whistled and Rex came running back to them. He scratched behind the dog's ears. "I don't think it's safe to do so yet. Not when most nightkin are considered crazed monsters." Rex wandered off again. He behaved like a much younger dog now. "Besides — "

Rex stopped and barked at something ahead. Gunnar paused as Arcade held up a hand. Ahead were men and women, armed, but no insignia that Gunnar could see at this distance. He couldn't tell if they were NCR or some other group. Not Raiders or Fiends, from the look of them. Rex barked again.

The leader of the men cradled an assault carbine and waved them on. "Go on through," he said. "Our business is with the muties, not you."

Gunnar's eyes narrowed. "What's your problem with Jacobstown?" he called back, as he and Arcade approached. Rex stayed by their sides, hackles raised.

"Just doin' what we're paid to do," the man said. "Get 'em to leave, get out of here."

"Why? Did they do something?" By now they were close enough that Gunnar reached for Rex's collar to hold him back, except he didn't have one. 

"Well," the man drawled, "Muties are attacking brahmin herds, so people want something done about it. That's what we're getting paid for, doing something about it."

Gunnar couldn't remember seeing any herds on the way here. He patted Rex's braincase, and hoped that would keep the animal calm. Arcade was silent and tense on the other side of the dog. "Who's paying you?"

"I don't like to name names. Let's just say they're important in California."

NCR, then. This was nominally NCR territory, but was it really? Jacobstown was probably a gray area on the map.

"If it's happening in California, why're you hunting them here?" Arcade asked.

"We're getting paid to make 'em go away. What's it to you?"

Gunnar pulled off his helmet. "I'm Gunnar Volk, the Ponix of New Vegas," he said. "This isn't California. I've spoken with the inhabitants of Jacobstown and I will not let them be hounded by outsiders."

There was muttering among the men at Gunnar's name. "Perhaps you've heard what I've done?" he said, raising his voice. "I've fought Brotherhood of Steel. They had power armor, I didn’t. I walked away, they didn't. The Fiends and Caesar alike fear me. I’ll tell you this once, politely: leave here and don't come back."

"The Ponix, huh? Yeah, I've heard of you," the man said. "And you're not someone I want to mess with. C'mon, men," he said to his squad. "Let's go."

Gunnar and Arcade watched them go, Rex growling softly all the while, until they were down the road and gone. Arcade let out a loud breath. "That was close."

"Close, but maybe not smart," Gunnar said. "They'll tell people the Ponix was out here. Let's go back to Jacobstown for a moment; I want to let them know what's going on. And then we get back to Vegas as fast as we can."


	13. Cobwebs and Rainbows

"You sure like to live dangerously," Cass said.

Gunnar ran his finger along the shiny scar the bullet had left on his helmet. The helmet was still intact, and thank God he'd been wearing it. "It isn't intentional, trust me."

"Any idea who shot at you?" Boone asked.

"No." Gunnar shook his head. "I don't know if it was NCR or one of my other enemies."

It had been a close thing, getting into New Vegas. Someone had taken a shot at him and nearly succeeded. It was sobering. Now he was safely in the 38, but could he afford to leave it again?

"Where's the dog?"

"He's back with the King," Gunnar said, setting the helmet on the table for now. "We don't have room for a dog here, and I just offered to get him repaired." Fixed meant an entirely different thing, with dogs, though it was possible Rex had already been taken care of in that respect.

"How's everything here?"

"Could be better," Boone said. "People are getting nervous. Everyone knows the war's coming. And some people came by, threw rocks at the Lucky 38. Yelled that you're a murderer. The Securitrons chased them off," he added, as Gunnar stared at him.

"Was anyone hurt?" Gunnar asked.

"No. Like I said, your robots chased them away, but didn't shoot at them."

"Good. If they'd gotten hurt that would've only added fuel to their cause."

"Wow, finally getting tough, Boss," Cass said. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, but she was grinning. "You keep that up and you might get to be the hardcase people think you are."

"Very funny. I don't want anyone hurt or killed because of me," Gunnar said. "Especially now. But it's also true that I really don't want to give them any ammo against me. They'll come up with enough on their own."

Flitter. Polygamist. Enclavist.

"Hey, I've got something else for you to look at, now that you're done walking the dog," Veronica said.

"Okay. What is it?"

~ ~ ~

It was an eyebot that Veronica had found and managed to get started again. It bleeped and beeped and otherwise looked to Gunnar like a tiny satellite.

"So… what does it do?" he asked. "And where did you get it?"

"Mostly it just beeps," Veronica said. "But it's old, and you seem interested in this kind of thing. And maybe I can take it back to my family, if I can figure out more about it." 

She and Gunnar were the only ones present, in what amounted to a spare maintenance closet.

Gunnar looked it over from all sides. "Seems pretty beat up," he said. 

"Yeah. If I can't get it to do anything, it's probably not worth taking back."

"You still want to impress them, don't you?" Gunnar asked. The eyebot hovered and faced each of them in turn. 

"Yeah," she said, her voice very quiet. "I still want them to see reason. Maybe — "

She didn't continue, and Gunnar suspected he knew why. "Look, I'll poke around with it, and see if I can find out anything. I got that one Mister Handy to wake up, after all."

"Thanks."

"Is everything okay?" Gunnar asked. 

Veronica shrugged. "I don't know. I want them to accept me, even after everything that happened. I just wonder if that's a stupid way to think. I mean… maybe they only meant to bring me back, but if they really meant to kill me… but it wouldn't have been under the Elder's orders. Would it?"

"I can't answer that," Gunnar said, in an equally quiet voice.

"I know you can't. I just… it hurts to get kicked out of your own family. You know?"

"Yes," Gunnar said. "I know."

~ ~ ~

"An eyebot."

Gunnar looked up from sharpening a pencil. "Yes."

"That she just _happened_ to find, bring back and repair."

"That's what she said. I don't see a reason to doubt her."

Arcade looked like he could name several reasons. "You realize if it's still active, and it's got any valuable information, the last place it should go is to the Brotherhood."

"I don't trust the Brotherhood anyway, but why would it have information? What was it used for? Do you know?"

"Not… No. Can I see it?"

~ ~ ~

"I don't like this," Arcade said, after reviewing the eyebot. "I think you should turn it over to the Followers."

"Why them?"

"Because I'd rather they have it than the Brotherhood or the NCR." Arcade took one step back, because the closet wasn't big enough for more.

"Okay, but… what's it supposed to do?" The eyebot looked not exactly harmless, but certainly well-traveled. A faded bumper sticker read _My child is an honor student at Roosevelt Academy_ , and on the other side a 2062 license plate had been bolted on.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll say the wrong word or make what it thinks is a threatening gesture, and that'll activate its… mini-nuke… self-destruct sequence."

"You're making that up," Gunnar said.

"Want to bet?"

"So how do you know about it?" Gunnar said. "The plate is from Illinois. Is this from the Enclave group in Chicago, maybe?"

Arcade angrily gestured 'keep your voice down'. They both jumped when the eyebot's speakers crackled to life.

_"Subject E: Diagnostics complete. Begin Recording. My name is Whitley. I'm a researcher at Adams Air Force Base. Until recently I was in charge of the Duraframe Reinforcement Project for the combat model eyebots. Eyebot Duraframe Subject E is both the prototype and the last functional model in this test group."_

They both stared at it while the recording played back. _"…However, as the project was cancelled, and all Duraframe assets are diverted to the Hellfire armor, I'm sending this model to the Navarro outpost. If you're listening to this log from one of our Enclave outposts in Chicago, give this unit whatever repairs it needs, so it can continue to Navarro."_

“Wow," Arcade breathed, when it had finished. "That thing is definitely carrying around a bunch of Enclave intel. Adams is on the eastern seaboard of the country. Which means this little 'Duraframe' sucker somehow managed to survive for over two thousand miles. Certainly lives up to its model name. Where did Veronica say she found it?"

"I don't think she said exactly," Gunnar said, gently pulling the eyebot closer to look at it. "Just that she picked it up while getting the dog brain for Rex."

"It definitely needs to go to the Followers," Arcade insisted. "Or be destroyed completely."

"Destroyed? Why?" Gunnar turned to face him.

"Because of where it came from. Because of what that could mean, to anyone. It's probably best off if it's — "

"Wait," Gunnar said. "You and I are the only ones who know about this. I think it spoke because I mentioned the Enclave."

"Which proves how dangerous it is. Who knows what else it might spill."

"I didn't think you were so against technology, Arcade." Gunnar let the eyebot loose so it could float freely again.

"I'm against technology in the wrong hands. The Brotherhood would absolutely love to have this. If they could figure out the information it's carrying, who knows what they might try to do."

Gunnar rubbed his chin. "Yeah. Do we know what information it could be carrying?"

The eyebot turned slightly as if listening.

"Without knowing how to access more of its information… I don't know," Arcade said, in a quieter voice. "This Whitley didn't know that Navarro was gone, or maybe he sent the eyebot out before Navarro was destroyed."

"Which could make it very old," Gunnar said. "Old and tough. What would he be sending to Navarro?"

"I don't know. Information, but what kind, who knows. Nothing that could help Navarro now. As for why…" Arcade sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "He said he's an eyebot researcher. Probably how to make more eyebots, which is definitely something I don't want the Brotherhood or the NCR or just about anyone else to get."

"What's Hellfire armor?" Gunnar asked. "I saw eyebots before I went into the Vault, though none like this. They'd broadcast information, stuff like that.” 

"Enclave use… used… power armor." Arcade rubbed his forehead. "Look, it's not very important right now. If this thing decides to tell anyone else about its mission, that opens a big can of worms."

"And the only way to recan them is to use a bigger can," Gunnar said with a nod. "Okay. Let me think on this. For now I guess we can lock this closet. Sorry, eyebot," he said, and it beeped back. Arcade rolled his eyes heavenward.

"So what's next?" Arcade asked, as Gunnar fished in his pockets for a key to the closet.

"We have to meet up with your family again," Gunnar said absently, "and deal with the Boomers. I may take someone else with me when I visit them."

"Worried about me?"

"Yes. That's not the only reason, but yes. Coming back this last time, we came under some heavy fire, and we still don't know who it was. Yes Man?"

"That's me! Hello, Dr. Volk! How can I help you!" came through a wall speaker. 

"Is there a lock to this closet?"

"No, Dr. Volk! If you want something locked away and it's bigger than a bag of caps, you're probably better off moving it to a place where the door has both a lock and a key!"

"Tell it to keep his voice down," Arcade begged.

"I can hear you, too!"

"Yes Man, please, we don't want this broadcast through the entire building," Gunnar said.

"I only have one volume setting for the hallways, Dr. Volk!"

"Got it. Okay. Let me get to a more private area and then you can tell me where I can safely store something," Gunnar said.


	14. He's Got the Whole World in His Hands

Within half an hour, Gunnar had the eyebot locked away in one of the rooms Mr. House had used, safely behind a Securitron to boot.

"This place is bigger than I thought," Arcade said, looking around.

"It is. There's a lot of space that's not really used so far, either, at least not now. After the war, I'd like to see what else might be here. It'd be great if I could make use of it — either the space or whatever technology might be here."

"After the war," Arcade echoed, as they returned to the penthouse. "Lots to do, after the war."

"Yeah. And it might not be too much longer, either." Gunnar took a deep breath. "Which brings me to why you and I will visit your family again, but after that — don't give me that look, I'm not going to say anything bad.”

"So you're not going to say, 'after that, I think we spend some time apart'?" Arcade asked.

They'd reached the penthouse. Gunnar sat in one of the easy chairs by the window, where he could look over the city.

"You haven't answered," Arcade said. "That might give another man cause for worry."

Gunnar took a deep breath and gestured for Arcade to sit in the matching chair. "I've named you as my successor for Yes Man and the 38," he said.

Arcade pursed his lips, then took off his glasses and began cleaning them with a shirttail he pulled from his waistband. "Not the answer I expected," he said.

"I know. But whoever's trying to kill me only has to be lucky once. If they take me down, someone has to have access to Yes Man and to be able to lead the city."

"Don't talk like that," Arcade said, holding his glasses to the light. "You'll tempt fate."

"Do you believe in fate?" Gunnar countered. "Do you believe a person is destined by their past? The sins of the father visited upon the child?"

Arcade narrowed his eyes and put his glasses back on. "You're the King under the Mountain," he said, tucking his shirttail back in. "Playing off a legend."

"I don't believe I was chosen specifically to wake up now so I could stop Caesar," Gunnar said. He leaned back, hands clasped over his stomach, and watched the city. "That was coincidence. But it doesn't hurt for people to believe it was fate. Anyway, we're getting off track. The point is," he faced Arcade again, "until the war is over, until my assassins are removed, I don't know that it's safe for us to travel together outside the Strip. Frankly, if I were one of the assassins, I'd try some bomb or dynamite that would blow me to bits, if the goal is strictly to remove me from power. That could take out anyone with or near me."

"You're scaring me," Arcade said.

"Am I?"

"A little. You talk about that so easily. How to get killed."

Gunnar shrugged.

"So I'm your successor. I appreciate that you're not springing this on me at the reading of the will."

"They still have that, these days?" Gunnar asked.

"For people with enough stuff to need a will."

"Mm." Gunnar nodded. "So, here's what I've set up. In the event of my death, Yes Man can't really… reassign himself, so to speak. He's programmed to serve me and me only right now. Benny set that up." Before he died.

"Okay." Arcade leaned forward.

"I've instructed him to accept you as his… master — not the word I would have chosen, but — he will accept you as his boss in all things. I don't think his personality can change, so you'll have to deal with that."

"If I take over because you died, I'll have a lot more to deal with than Yes Man's personality," Arcade pointed out.

"I suppose so. At any rate, if it happens, God forbid, you will be the new Ponix of Las Vegas."

"Sticking with that title, are we?" Arcade sat back again.

"Why not? You'll have full access to Yes Man's powers, if I can use that phrase."

"And how will he know that I'm me and to give me control?"

"He can recognize you visually," Gunnar said, "and I think by voice, too. And you'll have to give a pass phrase."

"And that would be?"

Gunnar produced a pencil stub and scrap of paper, one of the end papers from a book, from his shirt pocket. He wrote for a few seconds and passed it to Arcade. "The top part is the hint, in case you forget, though I really hope you don't," he said, as Arcade read it. "The second line is the pass phrase itself."

"I… see," Arcade said slowly. 

Arcade folded the paper and began to put it in his pocket, but Gunnar held out a hand to take it back. "Never write down passwords where someone can find them," he said. "After all, I've found other people's passwords that way. Keep it in your head, and don't forget it."

"I won't," Arcade said, and watched as Gunnar tore the paper into small pieces, then burned them in the black marble ashtray.

"So we can't be together in public," Arcade said.

"I wish we could, but if we want Vegas to stay alive, we need to take care of these other things first." Gunnar ticked them off on his fingers. "The war. The NCR. The Legion — that assumes that one or both of them comes out of the war intact enough to continue being a problem to us. My assassins. But let's assume the war resolves a lot of those things. Until then, the 38 and the Strip are safe and mostly safe. Heh." He leaned back again and focused into the middle distance. 

"What's funny?"

"I think this was what David always thought about, too. How to stay with us and keep us safe at the same time. I think I know better what he was going through then."

"And you have some idea what it was like in the old days. For us. My family."

"More than you'd suspect," Gunnar said. "So we have to figure out a new way to escape the 38 and the city so we can meet your family again. I suspect you could probably come and go a lot easier than I could. I'm the one they want."

"I'm the one romantically involved with the one they want," Arcade pointed out. "I'm not sure I'm any safer apart from you."

"Probably not," Gunnar admitted. 

They watched the city for a few minutes.

"I suppose it could be worse," Arcade said at last. "And I have an idea about how to sneak out."


	15. We'll Meet Again

The sound of gunfire wasn't unusual to New Vegas. Not on the Strip itself, but the ruined city outside experienced it. Deals gone wrong, vendettas, warnings, theft, celebrations, plain old murder. The same could happen without firearms, but those interactions were quieter. Gunfire made people stop and listen: is it near? Approaching? Something I have to worry about?

So in and of itself, gunfire wasn't notable this early evening. What was notable was that the Ponix of New Vegas was involved, and it sounded like he'd been shot. That attracted attention. People passed the news along, and some went to the Old Mormon Fort, where the Ponix's guards had taken him for treatment. A large crowd had gathered there, awaiting word, by the time Arcade and Gunnar snuck out of town in the gathering dusk.

"I can't see anyone buying that for long," Gunnar murmured.

"They just need to believe it long enough," Arcade murmured back. 

"What about getting back in?"

"We'll think of something by then."

~ ~ ~

Arcade entered the passcode at the bunker buried in the mountain. It was deathly quiet inside, and yet not the same as the other old bunkers and Vaults that Gunnar had seen. This one was cleaner — maybe it had been used less over time. It would be easy to defend from the inside, he thought, as they walked the narrow doglegged corridors, but unless there was an escape route, it could also be a trap.

A tomb, he thought, and shook himself.

They came into a hangar, where a Vertibird still bearing the Enclave logo sat. It was an aesthetically appealing logo, Gunnar thought absently, and the machine itself had a certain hard beauty about it. He reached out to touch it, then withdrew his hand. 

Gunnar looked for Arcade, who'd said nothing since they'd entered. "Are you okay?" His voice sounded small and echoey in the hangar.

"Yeah." Arcade kept his own voice low. "I'm fine."

Gunnar nodded, not entirely convinced — he'd said "I'm fine" many a time, meaning the opposite — but then saw banks of… something. He flicked on the Pipboy's light and shone it over the capsules containing Enclave power armor. They had a more ominous look to them, undoubtedly function over form. Six suits of armor. Five old Enclave members, and Arcade. No… perhaps that sixth suit had belonged to his mother.

"Something else, aren't they?" Arcade said, coming up behind him.

"They look more comfortable than those big suits of power armor," Gunnar said. 

Arcade chuckled.

"Where are they? Your family," Gunnar said.

"I'm sure they're in the next room. Let's go."

Gunnar steeled himself — shoulders back, head high — and Arcade opened the door to what Gunnar decided was the command center. The former — or was it former? — Enclave members stood around a table with a map of the Mojave projected on it. They all looked up when the two younger men entered.

Judah Kreger spoke first. "Glad to see you made it here all right. So, who are we going up against?"

Gunnar hesitated before answering. They were old men and an old woman. This would likely be the last hurrah for most or all of them. Did he have a right to ask them to do this? 

But they'd been hunted all their lives, and even now the NCR would arrest them and possibly try and execute them for something they'd left long ago. Daisy longed to fly again. The others… maybe they needed this more than a quiet life of hiding any more.

"What is this place?" Gunnar asked, instead of answering.

"This was a minor refueling station for vertibirds. It seemed an appropriate place to stash our equipment if we ever needed. I'm surprised this place hasn't fallen apart. When I put it into standby mode, I expected to return to it within a few years, not decades." Kreger looked around, and so did everyone else. Still cleaner than most lived-in Vaults and old bunkers, but it was also old. Some of the lights no longer worked, and undoubtedly there was more damage elsewhere.

Keep stalling, Gunnar thought. "How do you plan to deploy?" He had no idea himself yet what he was going to do about Hoover Dam, he realized. He didn't even know the lay of the land there, what it looked like, what the terrain was like, anything. He was really unprepared. 

"Moreno, Johnson, Henry, and I will be the boots on the ground. Whitman will stay with the Vertibird." Judah Kreger watched Gunnar as the latter nodded again. "So what's the plan, Volk?"

"You know I want Vegas to be independent," Gunnar said. "I still have to deal with the NCR as the 500-pound gorilla as my neighbor. But the Legion are the bigger threat right now. We have to take down the Legion."

"And the NCR?" Orion Moreno asked. "What about them?"

"We can't fight two fronts at once," Gunnar said. "If you know your history, you know that's asking for disaster. One front at a time. The Legion are the bigger enemy. We — I — need the NCR to help fight them right now. After the dust settles, then I have to deal with the NCR."

"So we have to make nice with them?"

Gunnar waggled his fingers. "They're not very happy with me, either. They don't like that I've stood up to them. That I'd rather see Vegas stay independent, and the Mojave too, rather than become an NCR buffer state. It will never be easy, as long as they're there. I also know I can't hope to make them leave me alone forever. I can't. They're too big and have too many resources. The most I can hope is to make Vegas too much trouble to attempt another takeover."

"Like Mr. House did," Cannibal Johnson said. "And you're his heir, so they say."

"I am." Gunnar looked right at him. "I intend to carry on that cause — to keep Vegas free and independent."

"I don't like having to fight with the NCR," Moreno growled.

"I don't like it myself. But I need them to take the brunt of the Legion assault." Gunnar leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the map. "I have you five, the assorted gangs and families of Vegas, and my Securitrons. We're powerful, but small. The NCR has numbers, more than the Enclave ever had. So does the Legion. I need both of them to butcher each other. If the Legion wins, we're more than a match for them, because of our technology. If the NCR wins, I can chase them back to the pass if I have to."

"Big talk," Daisy Whitman chuckled. "But from what I hear, you're most likely to actually pull it off."

"Thank you, Daisy," Gunnar said. "But, Mr. Moreno, that's why we have to still deal with the NCR right now."

"And afterward?"

"I suppose that depends on the battle doesn't it?" Gunnar looked around at all of them, including Arcade. "You all know, probably better than me, that a lot of people don't come back from wars. But if this all works — if we win — you have a home on the Strip, and I will defend you there. It's the least I can offer you, I know. I ask for your freely given support, and I give you mine."

~ ~ ~

"The Great Negotiator," Arcade said.

He and Gunnar stood in the hangar, off to one side, while the elders checked on the Vertibird and the suits of power armor.

"That's what history should call you," Arcade continued.

"I'm pretty sure someone already has that title," Gunnar said. "And if I were truly a great negotiator, I could stop this war from happening. But politics is the art of the possible."

"Still. You've gathered all these tribes to you."

"Small tribes. I don't think the Families can do much in the war, but they'll keep the NCR off my back in the city proper. Same with the Kings." Gunnar kept watching the Enclavists. Maybe this made him one of them after all. "I'd love to get the Brotherhood to help too, but not after how they treated me, and the rest of you for being with me. I need more allies. Still have to talk to the Boomers."

"You're distracted."

"Yeah. Too much to do still." Gunnar gnawed on the side of one thumbnail. "And I've never been to Hoover Dam. I have no idea how to prepare the Securitrons for it. What it looks like. What to expect. Where the NCR or the Legion will — "

"Hey. Calm down." Arcade put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. You can handle this. You've managed so far."

"So far. Yeah."

"You're the Ponix."

"Hey, you did your part too." Gunnar finally turned to face Arcade. "If not for you, I wouldn't be here right now, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't. And neither would I."

"What do you mean? They're your family."

"They're…" Arcade took a deep breath. "They're the closest thing I have to a family. Daisy's the only one I stayed in touch with regularly these last few years." He took Gunnar's hand. "I still don't know how this is all going to shake out in the end, but at least the Enclave can atone a bit for all the damage it's done."

"You didn't cause any of that, Arcade." Gunnar squeezed his hand. 

"No. I didn't." They turned back to look at the Vertibird, still holding hands. "I was born at Navarro, my father served with them, but I wasn't part of the Enclave. Not really. It was gone by the time I was old enough to know what it was."

A pause.

"It seems presumptuous of me to think that I could join the fight, even if this is a cause worth fighting for."

"I don't — " Gunnar began, but Arcade continued: "Because I know when the fighting breaks out at the dam, all hell is going to break loose in Freeside."

"You think so?"

"I do. You're right, the Families will try. They've all got their enforcers. The Kings will do their part. But we don't know what the NCR will do, or how far the Legion's made inroads into Vegas, or if people will take advantage of the war to just… go crazy."

Gunnar thought there was little point in looting a ruined city, but didn't say so. "You think it'll be that bad. Well… you've been there longer than I ever have."

"I think they're going to need every doctor they can get."

"Then maybe you should stay in Freeside."

"I figured you'd say that. What with trying to keep us both safely away from each other."

"Arcade…"

"I know, I know, you mean well by it. And what you said makes sense. Because you're going to be at the dam, aren't you?"

Now it was Gunnar's turn to pause before answering. "I think so, yes. I need to see what's happening, and there's no way I can do that remotely. I need to be visible."

"That's dangerous."

"I know. Which is why — "

"I have to stay in Freeside," Arcade finished. "In case you don't come back."

"Yes." Gunnar turned to face him. "And you know what to do in case that happens. There'll still be some Securitrons on the strip, even if… the Legion wins. And if they don't, but I don't make it — "

"Don't talk like that," Arcade said sharply.

"Sorry." Gunnar looked away. "I'm just trying to, to take care of things. Just in, in case."

"You're going to come out of this."

"Logically, my brain says that that isn't a guarantee."

"Yes. We're both logical that way."

They embraced. Gunnar didn't want to let go. Don't let this happen, he thought. I don't want to die. I don't want any of them to die either. Not the Enclavists or my friends or any of the innocents in the city or the soldiers who just joined up to feed their families or get out of a dead end life at home. I don't want this war.

"I'll be okay." Arcade's voice was muffled.

"Yeah. Followers have, have guards too."

"No crying, okay? The Ponix doesn't cry."

"Says you. I'll cry if I, I goddamn want to." Gunnar sniffled.

"You'd better not, because then I might start, and we'll look just darling, bawling our eyes out in front of everyone."

"Okay. Yeah." Gunnar blinked hard several times, then let go of Arcade and tilted his head back, pressing a finger against his own cheekbones, just below each eye.

"What're you doing?" Arcade asked.

"This keeps the tears from, from happening. I don't know why, but it works," Gunnar said. He held his fingers there, then lowered his head. In the dark he probably didn't look too red-eyed yet. "Okay. I'll be fine."

"You won't, and we both know it, but hold it together until you get back to the 38."

"Until I get back? Not, not you?" Alarm screamed up Gunnar's spine, despite everything they'd just said.

"Yeah. I need to take care of something before I set up at Freeside. I'll see you soon. I promise. And… thanks for your help with the others."

"You're leaving now." No, no, no. Even though they'd talked about it, it couldn't be happening now, not now.

"Yeah. But I said, I'll see you soon. And the Ponix needs to be strong. Okay?"

Gunnar nodded. "And you need to stay safe. I mean it."

"I will. I promise."

Gunnar felt like his heart was breaking, physically coming apart. This wasn't a breakup. He could only hope it wasn't a permanent goodbye.


	16. Wanted

Diary:  
 _  
It's been a hard day. A left for Freeside. He should be safer there, and they'll need doctors soon enough. Still wish he didn't have to go. David, I shouldn't have gotten angry at you about leaving. I'm still not happy about it, but I understand more now._

_Staying here (bunker) tonight w/A's family. Had to learn how to use the power armor. With A gone they have a spare set, and I need all the protection I can get. I'd wear it back to Vegas except it has a big Enclave symbol on it, which is going to cause enough trouble when someone sees it in the battle. I don't need to give the NCR any extra reasons to stalk me._

_It took all day to learn how to use the armor. Daisy helped me. I'll do a refresher in the morning, and go back to the city. Daisy said she'll get the armor to a safe place en route — hope I can find it — anyway I'll need it to stay safe during the battle._

_To do upon returning to Vegas:  
\- find a map of Hoover Dam / layout / where everyone is (get Boone to ask NCR?)  
\- deal with eyebot  
\- brush teeth  
\- go talk to Boomers   
_  
~ ~ ~ 

"You left him to get back by himself?" Cass' tone clearly indicated what she thought of that plan.

"He'll be fine," Arcade said. How the hell was he going to smuggle that eyebot out of the closet and get it to the Followers without Veronica seeing? He certainly couldn't do it now, not with the whole misfit collective of Gunnar's followers awake and asking where he was. "He had an opportunity to stay and talk and work some things out."

"And you left him there," Veronica said flatly.

"He told me to go," Arcade said. "I'm to report to Freeside and organize in preparation for the upcoming battle. You know the city isn't going to sit idly by while armies fight for the future of the region at Hoover Dam."

They didn't look totally convinced. "Besides," he added, "He can take care of himself, you know. He did it before he met any of us."

"He did," Boone said, grudgingly. "But that was before he became the Ponix."

"You haven't told anyone he's still outside the city, have you?" Arcade asked.

Raul shook his head. "Nope. As soon as we figured you two had gotten away, Boone and I came back here, still pretending." Raul had worn Gunnar's scarred helmet, a face bandanna and the barn gun to the Fort, pretending to be the injured leader of New Vegas. "As far as anyone knows, he's in here, recovering."

"Good. Then he just has to sneak back in." Which Arcade hadn't planned for. Still, Gunnar was smart enough to get back in. He'd done it before. And nobody was looking for him to do so this time around.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar rubbed absently at his ring finger as he walked. He had to learn as much as he could about Hoover Dam's current condition, where the two major armies were on each side, how far it was, how fast he could expect the Securitrons to get there — could they get there? Could they go overland? Yes, Victor had gone all the way to Goodsprings — but there were remains of roads and that's probably how he'd done it — so were there decent roads remaining between Vegas and the Dam?

So much he had to find out. Maybe he could get a visual while out at the Boomers. He could make a side venture to see what it looked like. Boone would be good for that. Okay, Boone for that trip, then. Take someone else? Who else? Cass or Veronica. All of them? If they all went, no backup for Arcade if he needed help on Freeside.

Arcade was right, he was distracted. He needed to focus, to calm down. Easier said than done, he thought. He felt wound up, as though he _couldn't_ calm down, so his thoughts circled themselves like yapping dogs.

Circling — 

He was being followed.

All thoughts of the upcoming battle fled Gunnar's mind. He knew he was being followed. Hadn't seen them yet, but they were there, he was sure of it. He was almost to the city proper. He could use the ruins to lose them, maybe. Didn't matter who they were, the odds that it was someone he wanted to meet were small. Maybe that was just his nerves talking. Shit, his brain was screwing with him, he should've realized it before now, he could calm down, should calm down.

He broke into a run instead.

~ ~ ~

"Hey. Gannon."

Arcade looked up from the footlocker he knew Gunnar used to store spare medical supplies. "Santangelo." He kept his voice cool. She was still Brotherhood, and she'd been responsible for a lot of death around Gunnar.

"You're going back to the Followers, right?"

"For now, yes." Arcade moved vials of Medex and syringes from the footlocker to a backpack.

Veronica moved from the doorway into the room. "Look, I know you're not… That things happened when we tried to visit my family."

"Mm-hm." How much Medex was in here? Plenty, more than he’d expected. This should all go to the Followers anyway.

"I've had time to think," Veronica went on. "I'd like to join the Followers."

Arcade looked up, startled.

"I know," she said. "How could a one-two punch machine like me want to settle down to help people with problems instead?" She forced a laugh, hands on hips, but Arcade didn't join in, and she stopped and grew somber again. "Actually, I'm serious. The whole point of how I grew up was to help people. Except we only helped ourselves. Mostly to other people's technology. And I want to fix that."

Arcade sat back on his heels. "You're serious."

Veronica nodded. "I just said so, didn’t I? I don't think my family will ever take me back, no matter what I do. I still want to help them, but I can't, not in the way they'll let me. So now… now I have to…" She took a deep breath. "I can't just turn my back on everything. Maybe I can't help my family, but I could still help others. That's what we were supposed to do."

Arcade tilted his head to one side. "This is an unusual time to apply, you do understand."

"I know. But like you said, they'll need help."

Arcade turned back to the footlocker. "You can start by helping me carry these to the Fort."

"Sure. I'll get another bag."

~ ~ ~

He almost made it.

Gunnar kicked and fought until his captors pinned him face-down on the ground, a gun barrel cold against the back of his neck. He thoughts ran wild: glad he'd set up Arcade to take over, hoping against hope he could figure something out, praying. _O Lady, Mary, St. Helena, if you have any power here, spare me from this death!_

…Why hadn't they shot him yet?

Gunnar twisted his head slightly to look up at one of them. "Look," he rasped, with a dry throat, "Tell Murf I'll have his money tomorrow. I swear it, man. He didn't have to send you after me."

That confused them, as he'd hoped. Maybe they'd think they'd chased the wrong guy, the three of them, and let him go. 

"Who's Murf?" one of them asked.

"Murf? You know, Murf? Ohmygawd. You're not working for him?" Gunnar improvised. "Look, I sweartogawd I'll give him the caps tomorrow. I can get them."

"You said this is the Ponix," one of the captors said.

"I thought it was," another answered.

"Ponix has red hair."

"That's what you guys hunted me down for?" Gunnar began to laugh, and tried to keep from sounding hysterical. He had a spare helmet on, how the hell had they seen his hair? "No crime to have red hair."

The gun left his neck and he was turned over roughly with a boot. Gunnar wasn't tied up, but he'd been disarmed already and they still held weapons. Looked like pistols and a crowbar, all of which could mess him up very, very badly.

"Take off your helmet," the woman said. She had one of the pistols. She and the other two men had better clothes and some pieces of armor, and Gunnar wondered if they were one of his hit squads. Stupid, he thought. Of course they were. He had to be lucky every time. They only had to be lucky once. 

Gunnar carefully reached up and pulled off the helmet. "Okay, red hair, right? Sweartogawd, I — "

"Shut up," she said. She reached down with her free hand and took hold of his sweaty hair. She turned his head this way and that. "You sure look like him. Yeah."

She'd seen the scar on his right temple. Gunnar grabbed her arm before she let go of his hair, sure that he was going to die and therefore he had nothing to lose, though he really didn't want to get beaten to death. He pulled her half on top of him as the man with the pistol shot. She screamed, more bullets fired. 

Screams, and sounds of gunfire, weren't unusual to New Vegas.

~ ~ ~

"I don't like this," Boone said.

"I don't either." Cass nursed a beer as she watched Boone watching the street. "He should've been back by now."

"Yeah."

"Of course we don't know, but he might still be with whoever he's meeting."

"…Yeah."

"I can be ready in five minutes," Cass said.

"We'll search to the south and west," Boone said. "That's how they left the city, so he'd come back from there. Meet you at the side exit."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar held very still under the dead woman's body. He heard some bickering slang nearby, at least two… three people that he could tell, the survivors of this newest shootout. He needed to get out of there, but he had to not get noticed or killed.

He stretched his left hand until his fingers brushed what he hoped was the woman's 10-mil. Not an ideal weapon for him, but it was better than nothing.

"…yer a beefid, Chopper, ent no movent now," one said, a man with a big, deep voice.

"Not from Deeze, he's vat-chow now. Right I gotta through his beef." A woman who sounded like she'd gargled with glass.

"Aw. Deeze's good. Sorry he ate it, Eddie." Skinny voice, eager. "So's we put 'im inna vat now?"

"Nah, we gotta strip these shins," the woman said. Or another woman? Gunnar thought it might be a second one. He couldn't quite reach the gun.

Skinny voice laughed. "Sure, Iris, sure, we gotta do'at first. You wan I go up?"

"Shuddup, Chopper." That was Eddie, so Chopper had the skinny voice. At least one woman, named Iris. Gunnar stretched again, acutely aware of the dead woman's eyes staring past his shoulder, and that if he made too much noise or motion, Eddie's group would find him.

"Who dey?" the second woman asked. "Not us. Not Millie. Not skirts."

Finally! Gunnar got enough purchase to work the gun backwards into his hand. He hoped to hell it had bullets left. 

"Dono. Townies." They were getting closer.

"Betcha townies, yeah," Chopper said. Gunnar pictured a big dumb dog, happily bouncing around. "Dey come here, we blow their brains out! Yeah!"

So these weren't assassins, just scavengers or raiders or maybe even Fiends who'd seen their chance to shoot someone down. What did they think of the Ponix? If they were Fiends, they might try to eat him, Gunnar thought. He was still so hyped up from what had already happened. Steady, steady, try to be calm. 

The four came closer, still talking, apparently not worried about ambushes or reprisals. Gunnar decided to take the chance. He pushed the dead woman off him and sat up, forcing a big, friendly smile.

"Whoawhoawhoa, Eddie, look, Eddie, look!" Chopper yelped. He was skinny all right, skinny and strung-out. Eddie was the opposite, probably eating Chopper's meals, Gunnar thought: big, strong, carrying a modified railroad tie with glass shards in it for a club. The women looked more like Chopper, hungry, with glittering eyes. One had a limp mohawk, the other a shaved head like the men. 

"Hi!" Gunnar waved broadly with his empty right hand. "I'm sure glad you came along!" He spoke clearly, not too slowly, didn't want to look like he was talking down to them. "I owe you for saving my life!"

Those were the magic words. Immediately they shifted from surprised to overly casual and friendly. "Yeah, that's right!" Chopper said. "You owe us, see, you owe all us — "

"Shuddup, Chopper," Iris said. She sounded like she said that a lot.

"Who you?" Eddie asked.

"I'm a courier," Gunnar said. "I've got a really important message I have to get to someone in New Vegas. It's so important that these three wanted it. Thanks for taking them down."

"Dey our kills," the bald woman said. Not Iris. "Our shins."

"Sure." Gunnar scrambled to his feet, tucking the gun in the back of his pants. That was a great idea if he wanted to shoot himself in the butt, but it was the only way he could think to keep them from seeing it. He backed away from the corpses, where Chopper and Baldy began picking them over for anything worthwhile.

"Summin real important?" Iris asked. "Like what? Whatchu got, curyer?"

"It's a message," Gunnar said. "Not money." That helped; no point killing him over a message. "But maybe we can make a deal. You escort me to Freeside — go with me, make sure nobody else attacks me — I'll give you my pay for delivering the message." Gunnar had plenty of caps back at the 38. He could pay them in booze, if it came to that.

~ ~ ~

"I think I see him."

Cass took a quick drink from her canteen. "Is he under his own power? And did he bring more friends back with him?"

"Yes… and yes." Boone lowered the binoculars. "A bunch of losers the Fiends probably rejected. Armed to the teeth though."

"Then they can't be complete losers. At least, not until someone tests them to see if they know which end of the gun to point at someone."

Boone made a low growling noise.

"Yeah, I know, Arcade shouldn't have left him, you said it a couple times already," Cass said. "Tell you what, let me talk to him when we meet up, okay? Which way are they coming?"

"Should be where we can meet them in twenty, thirty minutes. Rough terrain."

"Of course he'd come back the hard way," Cass sighed. "Well, let's go see who the new roommates are."

~ ~ ~ 

Gunn talked with the four scummy-looking scavengers like they were best friends. Maybe they were by now, Boone thought. He remembered the squad back at Camp Golf.

"Let me do the talking," Cass reminded him.

"Yeah." Boone kept his rifle ready anyway. He wouldn't let any of these four within fifty feet of the 38 without a delousing and a bath from a fire hose.

Gunn waved and smiled at Cass and Boone. "Hi! I've got the message to deliver, as promised," he said loudly when he and his troop got into range. "Do you have the payment?"

What the hell did he mean by that? But Cass just asked, "Who's all your friends?" while standing easy. 

"Look, I know it was going to be just me," Gunn said, holding up his hands as though to say 'calm down'. "But my friends here really helped me out. So if I can get my pay?" 

"Well…" Cass drew it out as if thinking. "We had a deal."

"Sure we had a deal. And I'm holding up my part of it. I brought the message. Can I have the payment, so we can get out of here?" Gunn acted so naturally that Boone half believed he really was just a courier.

"Fine, fine. You want it in booze, caps or drugs?"

A violent verbal argument broke out among the scavengers about what was the best choice of payment. Gunn let them go until someone said "Shut _up,_ Chopper" for a third time, then told Cass he'd be fine getting paid in booze. The scavengers agreed as soon as Cass returned with full bottles. 

Gunn passed it on to the scavengers, who were very happy indeed to get all of it. Then, with vague promises to look for them again next time he needed safety while traveling, Gunnar waved them goodbye.

He turned back to Cass and Boone and the good humor left his face, replaced by weariness. "Let's go home," he said, wiping at his eyes.


	17. There'll Be Some Changes Made

"Arcade said — " Boone began, but Cass shushed him. 

"Arcade? Has he been here?" Gunnar looked up from his drink. They'd come home, he now sat at the kitchen table, and allowed Cass to force a bottle of water on him. 

"Yeah. You didn't… break up or anything, did you?" Cass asked.

"No, no… just we…" Gunnar sighed and drank some more water. "Things are coming to a head."

"No shit," Cass said. She leaned her chair back on two legs. "I think there was a fight between NCR supporters and Ponix people, while you were out. It's been crazy. How about you? Where'd you go?"

"Made another alliance," Gunnar said. "And tomorrow I have to get out of the city again, go talk to the Boomers. I've been putting it off."

"Is… Arcade coming back?"

"Yeah. He's got to take care of some stuff for me. That's all."

Cass studied him, and said, "Okay."

"Surprised you didn't invite the scavs in for dinner," Boone said.

Gunnar chuckled. "I suppose I deserve that. But no. They accidentally took out a hit squad after me, so I talked them into escorting me the rest of the way here. I figured paying them was the safest way about it."

"As long as they don't come begging for more," Boone said.

"A hit squad?" Cass asked. "Who was it?"

"I don't know. They weren't Legion, even undercover, because a woman was with them." Gunnar shrugged. "Eddie's group took the loot, and I let them. I don't know if the hit squad was after me or my head."

"All the more reason you shouldn't go alone anywhere," Boone said.

"Then I can count on you coming with me to talk to the Boomers?" 

Boone didn't hesitate; neither did Cass. "Sure." "You bet."

"Good. Then we just have to figure out a safe way to sneak out of town… again."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar ate dinner with Cass and Boone and Raul; asked where Veronica was, and found out she'd gone to the Fort; and evaded questions about who he'd made an alliance with, saying they were a smaller group than he'd anticipated and he didn't know how much help they'd be, but it was worth trying.

After that, Raul produced a deck of cards and Gunnar got to learn some new games, including Skatter and Caravan. They played for a few hours, and Gunnar learned that his poker face wasn't nearly as good as anyone else's, but that was probably a good thing to know, at least for card games.

He stayed in good spirits until the party broke up and he went to the penthouse. It was silent and dark there; he never turned on the radio if he could help it, and he left the lights off, navigating by the tiny emergency brights.

Gunnar walked to the window and looked at his city. _My city,_ he thought, _right or wrong._ Arcade was at the Fort, and presumably Veronica was too, for whatever reason. The city looked fairly peaceful, probably because he couldn't see what was happening down there.

 _I haven't forgotten,_ he thought. _I owe you a church._ He had prayed and at least one of them had answered, so he had to do something about that. No bolt of lightning, no; but a chance to live, yes, that's what he'd been granted. A miracle in the form of four filthy and well-armed people whom some would call not quite human, because they were the dregs of society.

He'd been grateful indeed for their arrival, even more when he'd won them over. And thus he had to build a church.

 _As soon as I can,_ he promised. He had no idea how to make it happen, not yet, but he'd figure it out. 

There was a knock at the main penthouse door. Gunnar's spirits lifted a little, but Arcade would hardly knock to come in. Neither would an assassin. He suddenly thought of pizza delivery, and how his home, their home, so long ago, was out of range for most delivery services, so sometimes when he went into town he'd have some for lunch, just because — 

The knock repeated. Gunnar left the memory behind (though pizza: if he could figure out a source for cheese…) and went to see who it was.

It was Cass, with two bottles of water and a prewar packet of cheese-flavored crackers. "Hey. Thought you might want to talk."

Gunnar shrugged. "Sure. C'mon in." For all he knew she was the one who wanted to talk. He couldn't think of anything interesting for once.

Cass looked around. "Moping in the dark, huh? Put on some lights already."

Gunnar did so, and they sat at the little table. Cass opened up the package, which had a lot of crumbs in it. "Well, it was worth a try," she said. She passed a bottle to Gunnar, who took it but didn't open it yet. "Arcade isn't back yet," she said. "Figured you might be worried about him coming home late and all."

"He's probably spending the night at the Fort," Gunnar said. "And I guess Veronica's staying there too. Any idea why she went?"

Cass shrugged 'no'. "Probably to help him carry all that stuff. What was that about?"

"Medical supplies to take to the Fort. Medex and stuff we can't use here, or that I have a lot of," Gunnar said. 

Cass nodded. "Sending him somewhere safe, is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it's your life and how you want to run it," she said, tilting her seat back. "Personally I'd want my loved one close to me to the bitter end."

"I hope it won't be a bitter end," Gunnar said, twisting the cap from the bottle, "and I'd rather know they were safely away from danger. Or at least as much as possible in this world."

"So you think it's coming soon?"

"I do. Which is why tomorrow we hoof it to the Boomers, and I see if I can talk them into helping out. From what I understand, they've got lots of heavy firepower, and that could be very welcome in the upcoming fight." He still didn't have a map of the Dam. Where could he get one?

"Then you'd better get some good sleep tonight," Cass said. She carefully repacked the cracker crumbs. "No bad dreams, okay?"

Gunnar wished her the same, and when he went to bed, lay awake for a long time.


	18. Running Between the Raindrops

"I know how we can sneak you out," Cass said the next morning, poking her head into the kitchen area.

"Good morning to you too." Gunnar had splurged by brewing up some of the dwindling supply of real coffee. He needed it this morning.

"Is that prewar coffee? I don't know how you can drink that stuff. Anyway, I know how we can sneak you out this time."

"What's wrong with the coffee?" Gunnar sniffed his cup; smelled fine to him, even if it could use some milk. There was honey for sweetening it. 

"It's nasty, that's what's wrong," Boone said. He'd already made himself a cup of coyote coffee. "It tastes like someone puked up bile into the pot."

"Wow, tell me how you really feel." Gunnar had tried coffee from coyote tobacco once and decided it was one of those acquired tastes he could live without. 

"Do you care how I figured out the sneaking-out plan or not?" Cass asked. She still hadn't entered the room, just leaned in.

"Yes. I care." Gunnar half turned his chair so he could face her better. "What is this good sneaking-out plan?"

Cass proudly held up Veronica's Brotherhood robes and hood. "Walla!"

Gunnar looked on the clothes in alarm. "You're kidding."

"No way he can look like Veronica," Boone said.

Cass looked at Boone. "We're not making him look like Veronica."

"Where'd you get those?" Gunnar asked.

"From her footlocker. She said she wanted some new clothes, so I helped her out with that."

Gunnar relaxed a little. "She… wanted a change of appearance, I guess?"

"Yeah. So now we cover you up and get you out of the city."

"Won't people recognize Boone? Or maybe both of you. It's not like you haven't been seen in my company before."

"Yeah, but you've also sent us out on other jobs. Like this last one, me and Veronica went to get that dog brain, and she brought back that robot," Boone said. "What happened to that, anyway?"

"It wasn't anything useful to us," Gunnar said. 

"So let's get on with it," Cass said. "The sooner we do this, the sooner we get back before anyone notices you're gone."

~ ~ ~

The radstorm helped. It started just before they left; they took doses of Radex and moved fast, covered up in old slickers and, in Gunnar's case, the extra layer of Veronica's Brotherhood clothing. He didn't like the hood; it obstructed more of his peripheral vision than a helmet did, and of course it provided no real protection against assault. At least it helped against the weather.

The cold, radioactive rain made sure few people were on the streets. The only encounter they had was with an NCR patrol who recognized Boone and asked if he was still working for Volk.

"Yeah," was all Boone said.

"Still running errands for that guy? You know you can come back anytime," the sergeant said.

"Yeah, I know. Maybe later."

Gunnar tried to look cold and miserable but not so much that he'd attract attention. He was taller than Veronica, but the Brotherhood was so rarely seen that apparently nobody recognized her coat for what it was.

Boone and the NCR soldiers shot the breeze for another minute and then they finally got under way.

"Less work than last time," Cass said. "Let's hope we can get back in that easy."

~ ~ ~

"You okay?" Cass asked Gunnar.

"Sure. Why?"

"Y'know, everything happening. You're quiet today. Not your usual chatty self."

Gunnar smiled wanly. "I'm just tired."

"Yeah, I can see that." Cass went back to humming to herself as they walked.

Tired, yes. Poor sleep, thinking of the people he'd killed, those killed because of him, his lost partners, and now he had to send Arcade away to keep him safe. Gunnar hoped it would work.

He felt tired in his soul, too. He needed a break. But there wasn't a chance of that, not with the war coming. 

Gunnar wanted suddenly to sit down and just… not be, for a while. That wouldn't work, of course. He'd put this off far too long, just like with the Enclave remnants. The Boomers had firepower, and he could use them on his side. If he could get in to talk to them. If they'd listen. 

So he kept walking. So much walking. So many steps. Each journey of a thousand miles, wasn't that it? Something like that. Starts with a single step. So many steps, one in front of the other. If he just kept his feet moving, he could get there. 

If he were home, his real home, long ago, he could curl up under the bedcovers and not come out, especially if he was alone in the house. Okay, the dog might come to see what was wrong with him…

Goldie, he thought. That was her name. That was the dog's name. Some yellow shepherd mix thing. She would come nuzzle his face and neck and try to get him out of bed, on those days when he didn't feel like facing the world.

Gunnar wiped at his eyes, quickly, so the other two wouldn't notice. He missed them all so much. Knowing there was nothing to be done didn't help. He still missed them. If he could change things, he'd go back to stay with them, and face the end of the world together. He wouldn't — 

He pressed his lips together tightly, to avoid making a sound. He wouldn't have stayed in the safe place while they died. Yes, just like what Arcade was doing right now. History repeats, he thought, whether we like it or not.

~ ~ ~

They found a shack to stay in that night. Gunnar ate in silence, thought about writing in his diary, and instead went to sleep. 

His dreams were strange, though not always outright bad. Gunnar didn't believe dreams could foretell the future, they were just vivid brain firings. He still didn't enjoy waking up from one in the middle of the night. 

It was cold but tolerable in the shack. Gunnar had grown up in a northern climate, and there were two other people sleeping here.

He rolled over and tried to get comfortable, and fell asleep before his thoughts could devil him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hirschfeld-style caricature of Gunnar Volk by [@homonculove](https://homunculove.tumblr.com/) on tumblr:  
> 


	19. Comin' In on a Wing and a Prayer

When he next awoke, he wasn't sure what time it was or where he was. Light snuck in through gaps in the walls, but was that daylight or searchlights? Gunnar shook his head, trying to clear it. Nobody had searchlights here. What was he even thinking of?

He sat up. There was just enough light to see that he was alone in the shack. Strong daylight, for winter, which meant it was hardly near dawn. How long had he slept? Where were they?

Now he heard them, low voices outside. So they'd gotten up and left him to sleep in. Great, just when he couldn't afford to waste time like that. 

When he made it outside, blinking against the light, Boone and Cass looked up from where they sat by the small fire. Almost guilty, or worried, he thought. "Why'd you let me sleep?" he asked. "We were supposed to leave early."

"You needed it," Cass said, looking at Boone, then back to Gunnar. "You really did. So we thought we'd just let you sleep."

"I didn't — "

"You were talking," Boone said. Had there been a pause before 'talking', or had Gunnar imagined it?

"I — " Gunnar took a deep breath. Let it go. This wasn't a battle he needed to fight. "Okay. Well, what's done is done." He sat by the fire and warmed his hands. "Is there any coffee? Of whatever kind?"

"Do you really have to go see these people?" Boone asked, passing Gunnar a cup. "They're supposed to be pretty dangerous."

"Yes, I have to. If they're that dangerous, I need them on my side. And maybe they'll respect my bravery by showing up in person." Gunnar held the cup while Boone poured, then cradled his hands around it for the warmth.

"Is there anyone else after this?" Cass asked. "Because we're running out of ways to sneak you out of the city."

"No. I don't think so, anyway. I think this is the last of the major groups."

~ ~ ~

Diary:

_Foods I miss:  
pancakes  
ice cream  
oatmeal  
sauerkraut and pork chops  
sandwiches (from home, not the kinds here)_

~ ~ ~

He didn't have time to mope in his own thoughts once they reached the edges of Boomer territory. It was well marked with warning signs and admonishments that to go farther meant certain death. It took longer than Gunnar liked to figure out a safe way in, dodging between the largest rocks available for cover, and praying that the barrage didn't somehow come around that. All three of them were gray with dust by the time they made it to the Boomer gate, and Gunnar was no longer unhappy, just disgruntled. He still made himself smile pleasantly at the gate guard with the missile launcher.

"Hold it right there!" The guard looked jumpy, even amazed that someone was here. "How the hell did you survive that bombardment?"

"I'm Gunnar Volk, the Ponix of New Vegas," Gunnar said, and remembered how people had misheard that as 'Gunner Folk.' Like the Boomers, presumably. Maybe they'd think his name was cool. "I'm here to talk to whoever's in charge."

"I'm not telling you a thing, savage! Move a muscle and I'll blow you to pieces!"

Gunnar resisted the urge to scowl. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "I'm here to talk."

"Then just, just stay where you are! Raquel'll be here any second… "

Raquel was also heavily armed. She looked less than thrilled to see strangers at the gate too, but said "Mother Pearl" wanted to speak to them.

Mother Pearl was the healthiest looking old person Gunnar had seen since he'd come out of the Vault. All the Boomers looked strong and well fed, actually, and every one of them was armed. It couldn't just be because of his team, Gunnar thought. No, they were like the Brotherhood; mistrustful of outsiders, insular, and well armed. But the Boomers were aboveground, with plenty of space and food, and — 

"At least they didn't make us strip at gunpoint," Boone muttered so only Gunnar could hear.

"Yeah." That too.

Mother Pearl differed from Elder McNamara in another way: she recognized that the outside was growing stronger, and that the Boomers would be forced to deal with outsiders, sooner or later.

"We have a few problems that perhaps the Ponix of New Vegas could help with," she said, as she and Gunnar talked in the privacy of her house. (Boone and Cass were required to cool their heels outside.) 

"So you've heard of me? Besides what your guards relayed to you, that is."

"Yes, I've heard of you, from the radio broadcasts. It's how we know something about what's going on outside." She sipped at her mug; Gunnar, as always, had water. This was good, clean water, too — probably one of the reasons the Boomers seemed so healthy. 

"I'd've thought you might not want to hear anything from the outside world," Gunnar said.

"We don't want to be impacted by the outside. But the outside has a way of making itself known anyway. We see the soldiers on the move. The caravans. More people are visible now, and more lights, and more troops. I'd be a fool to see all that and not want to know what's going on."

"You're smarter than some groups out there," Gunnar said, "who think the best reaction is to stick their heads in the sand and pretend nothing's changed."

"Good of you to say so." Pearl set down her mug. "And yes, we've heard of this Gunnar Volk, the Ponix of New Vegas, who dares to stand against two larger factions. You must have some secret that keeps them both from swatting you like a fly."

"I must have," Gunnar said lightly. "And what keeps them from buzzing around Nellis?"

"You experienced it on the way in. We control ordnance." Pearl's tone hadn't changed, but Gunnar could sense the iron beneath her words. "If either side tries to get near, we can, and will, shell them off the face of the earth. _We_ are the gunner folk, Ponix. We don't tolerate interlopers."

"So why let me in?"

"As we agreed, times are changing. We've lived here, without help, without trespass, for decades. We have our own water and food and ways to defend ourselves. Our children are healthy and strong. We are independent, like eagles. But even eagles see that more people are coming in, and we don't want to be surrounded, and eventually at their mercy."

"So me and my people, we're to be the first contact between the outside and the Boomers," Gunnar said. "I see. That's a big responsibility. I'll do my best to live up to it."

"I'm glad to hear it. So, Ponix Volk, why are you here? And what possessed your parents to name you Gunner?"

Gunnar laughed good-naturedly. "My name is… a story for another time," he said. "As for why I'm here — I've been traveling a lot lately, talking to groups all over the Mojave. I'd prefer peace, but there's only so much one man can do."

Pearl nodded. "So you're just exploring. Traveling."

"I'm a historian, actually. I find it fascinating how different cultures have developed over time since the war."

"Oh, you are? Perhaps you'd like to see our museum."

Gunnar's face lit up. "You have a museum? I'd love to see it!"

~ ~ ~

Boone kept quiet and out of the way while the kid talked. The Keeper of the Story, he called himself, and Gunn ate it up in big heaping handfuls. The story of the Boomers. Boone thought they had a lot more on the ball than most Vault dwellers. Still, the fact that they wanted to take to the skies again to rain hot flaming bomber death upon everyone who wasn't them was… Gunn would say "troubling". Boone had another word for it.

On the other hand, faced with all this firepower… Boone knew the NCR had made overtures to the Boomers, and been rejected. Maybe Caesar had tried too. Who wouldn't want heavily armed and trained allies? 

And it had taken Gunn's mind off whatever the hell was bugging him lately. Gunn needed to be at his best, and he hadn't been, on the way here. 

Boone shifted his weight from foot to foot. Cass was gamely trying to hide her boredom. 

In the end, the Boomers were impressed that Gunn was impressed, and it promised to become a mutual appreciation society before too long. Then Gunn talked some more with Mother Pearl, before returning to Boone and Cass, who had started their fifth game of Skatter. 

"We'll be staying the night," Gunn said, as though that was something to look forward to.

"And what else?" Cass asked, throwing down two cards and taking the trick.

"And we'll do a few helpful things around the place, to show we're nice people."

Boone had expected something like that. "Let's get it over with," he said, picking up the cards.

"It's easy enough. Shooting ants in the basement. And don't hit any explosives."

"You make it sound so good," Cass said. "But that's why we have a sharpshooter along, isn't it?" She made finger guns at Boone. "One bullet to each ant. I'll tally the bodies."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar studied the solar array components for a long time. The last time he'd had to fix a solar set… that had been, what, two years before he'd gone into the Vault? And it wasn't quite the same as this one, for obvious reasons. He could probably get it working. Probably. At the very least they'd get the ants out of the generator building. 

He hoped he could do this. He'd figured out the Helios thing, after all; but that hadn't involved so much physical repair as this one. No, he could figure it out, he told himself. He had to, or at least do the best possible job at it. Clean the panels — someone had let them get too dirty over time. Start with that. Then the components again, maybe his subconscious would come up with something after time had passed.

It was good work, honest work, and it kept him busy, though his thoughts kept veering back into the dark if he didn't watch it. But this was it, he reminded himself. Get the Boomers on his side, convince them not to bomb Vegas or any of his allies, and… wait for the war to start, he guessed.

He thought again of the earnestness of Pete, the boy who was now the Keeper of the Story. Cute kid, and at least the Boomers kept up some form of their history. Gunnar had his diaries, and maybe afterward, when the dust settled, he would write the new history of the Mojave. Then again, maybe he wouldn't have the chance. He'd be busy if he survived, running the place and keeping his allies from causing trouble and keeping anyone else from doing the same. New Vegas needed - well, it needed a lot of things.

Suddenly it came to him, how to work around those components. Gunnar set down the rag and bucket of water he'd been using to clean the panels and returned to the array controls. Yes. Yes, that could work. He just had to get the right tools, which should be in the hangar, but which tools. Gunnar opened his diary to a back page and penciled in what he needed. He should see if they had any spare notebooks or journals he could buy, too.


	20. Just One of Those Things

"Hello? Anyone home?" 

"Hello Miss Santangelo! Hello Mister Gannon! I'm here! The others are all out! Except Raul, who's playing cards with his friends in the next building! Raul said he was going to clean them out! How can I help you!" Yes Man's voice came from a wall speaker. Arcade grimaced.

"Where's everyone else?"

"Like I said, they're out!"

"Okay, out where?"

"I'm not sure! They're probably doing something really important though!"

"Actually, this is good," Arcade said. "We can get it out of here and back to the Fort without much notice."

"Okay, I'll look for a bag big enough to carry it," Veronica said. "Or a blanket."

Arcade put his hand to his face. "I forgot. Gunnar got it to activate; it's mobile now."

"It is? What does it do? Anything?"

"No, it's too damaged. He couldn't find anything out about it. But a blanket still isn't a bad idea. We don't want anyone noticing and getting spooked by a flying robot."

"That's the truth. I know I haven't seen one of those before, active or dead," Veronica said. "I'll find a blanket and we'll get it to the Followers."

Arcade had the door unlocked by the time Veronica returned. "I think someone took my old robes," she told him.

They unfolded the blanket to full size. "So? I thought you didn't want them any more," Arcade said. He eyed the robot, who somehow gave the impression of eyeing him back. 

"Yeah, but… I didn't think they'd be gone."

"It makes it harder to return, doesn't it? Okay… eyebot… we just want to wrap you up against the cold."

"I guess, but… well, if they're gone, they're gone. I didn't really like them anyway. They were ugly and they were always hot in summer, and…" Veronica's voice trailed off as she and Arcade surrounded the eyebot with the blanket. They now had a floating blanket, like a very dirty ghost.

"Yeah. You're better off like this. Plus on your down time you can wear that dress Gunnar gave you."

That did the trick. "You're right! I can wear that now. How do we cover up all those antennas?"

"Maybe carry it that way?" Arcade guessed. "We'll get it figured out."

"Hey, Doctor Gannon!" Yes Man chirped from the hallway.

Arcade muttered something that would have earned him a disapproving look from Gunnar and went to the hallway. "Are we being attacked?" he snapped.

"No!"

"Is it an emergency?"

"No!"

"Then it can wait. And no back talk," Arcade said, and returned to the task at hand. Yes Man did not respond, and that was fine with Arcade. 

~ ~ ~

The mail waited, uncollected, at the front door, as Raul played cards next door and Arcade and Veronica transported the eyebot to the Old Mormon Fort.


	21. He Wears a Pair of Silver Wings

Gunnar sat in the Boomers' museum as the January dark closed around Nellis base. They didn't have a chapel here; well, they did, but he wasn't allowed in it, so he sat here instead. Pete, the kid who was now the Keeper of the Story, had to stay here too, to make sure Gunnar Volk the outsider didn't try anything, but he needn't have worried. Gunnar had no intention of disruption.

No, he was here because it was the closest they had to a shrine, that an outsider could visit. This was their story. It was a more upbeat story than that of the Great Khans, but who could say what would happen to each group? He had to get the Boomers to help him, and that meant he had to help them; an eye for an eye, as it were. A reverse tāliōnis. He smiled to himself; what would Caesar think?

Somehow, sitting here, thinking and, yes, praying without speaking, Gunnar began to feel calm inside again. He'd been agitated and then despaired of what was to come; but, after all, he'd survived (and had to build that church) and who was to say that things wouldn't turn out well in the end? Ah, hope, that most dangerous emotion, and he smiled again. There was still hope. If he gave up now, he might as well walk to Caesar's camp and hand himself over. 

He was the ponix, wasn't he? He had already risen once. Gunnar frowned at that; that was a little too Messianic for his taste, and he didn't like the implication. He could certainly die again, and more permanently this time. 

"What're you thinking?"

Gunnar looked at Pete. "About the future."

Pete nodded, a kid mimicking his elders. "You know what's in our future? We're going to fly again."

"Like eagles," Gunnar remembered. The Enclave had the Vertibird, but that was hardly enough, and Daisy wouldn't give it up. "Are there airplanes somewhere?"

Pete began to answer, hesitated, and said, "I think you should ask Mother Pearl about that."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar studied the map, fully aware that Pearl and the other Boomers of importance awaited his response.

"So your dream, your ultimate goal," he said carefully, "is to get this bomber up from the bottom of Lake Mead and get it airworthy again."

"In a shotgun shell, yes," Loyal said. He was likely as old as Pearl, and, Gunnar understood, a wealth of knowledge of repairs and technology. "We have enough spare parts and documentation to do it. We even have the B-29 in the hangar that we can scavenge from, and shows us what we should expect."

"Why not use that one?" Cass asked.

"It's for scavenging. Looks like the important parts stripped out of it long ago," Loyal said.

"Museum piece," Gunnar said. "It's for display. Maybe show it off to visitors, back in the old days." He looked over the map again. Lake Mead wasn't that far away, technically. Jesu-Maria, he wished he had a vehicle, or a horse, or even a bicycle. Mountain bikes would be useful for the rough terrain and broken blacktop. More shank's mare for now, though.

"So the bomber is at the bottom of Lake Mead," he repeated, and chewed on his lower lip. The Boomers had never seen a plane in action. "Assuming it's still there and intact, how do you intend to get it off the bottom of the lake?"

"Floatation devices," Loyal said proudly. "Attach them to the bomber and then inflate them. It should bring the Lady of the Lake right up."

The Lady of the Lake? Well, why not. Gunnar tried to remember anything about this. B-29s were from the 1900s, he knew that, during World War II. How one of those had ended up at the bottom of Lake Mead, he didn't know, but after all this time, would it even be useful for parts? Nobody would know until it came up for air.

"If it's that easy, why haven't you done it?" Boone asked.

"Child, nobody's left Nellis for fifty years or more," Pearl said. "No one comes in, no one goes out. Until you three."

"And what'll you do with it if you get it working?" Boone continued, not reacting to Pearl's gentle chide.

"We'll return to the air, like our ancestors did," Pearl said. "It's our destiny."

"Do any of you know how to fly an airplane?" Gunnar asked, as politely as he could manage.

"We've got flight simulators," Loyal said. "The youngsters've been practicing on them all their lives."

"If we get the Lady out of the lake, they'll be thrilled to get a chance to fly for real," Pearl added.

Gunnar thought the whole thing was doomed to failure, but stranger things had happened. "Okay," he said. "I'll go to Lake Mead and see what I can do about getting the bomber out of the water."

"Just get it to the surface," Loyal said. "I'll send some robots along with you. We've got lots of Mister Gutsys available, and they can get break down the bomber and bring back the pieces."

Oh, Saint Helena, this looked worse and worse. "Sure," Gunnar said. Then another thought occurred to him. "Wait, this plane is underwater." In January. 

"You can swim," Boone pointed out.

That was true; he might be one of the few who could, in this day and age. But still. A lake in January. Gunnar tried not to cringe at the thought. "I don't know if I can hold my breath long enough to get everything done."

A discussion followed, and at the end of it, Loyal's assistant Jack said he could put together a rebreather device. 

So to get the firepower of the Boomers on his side, Gunnar had to make the good faith effort to recover an antique aircraft intact from the bottom of a freezing lake. He could feel Cass' and Boone's eyes on him and their probable "are you nuts?" expressions.

"Okay then," Gunnar said, stepping back from the map table. "We'll leave for Lake Mead in the morning."


	22. Goin' Under

Diary:  
 _  
…So that's all caught up. Tomorrow we reach Lake Mead and I'm going to look for any remaining lakeside buildings first. That lake is going to be cold, even if there's no snow on the ground, and I'll need a wetsuit or something insulating to not go into shock and freeze to death in there. I think the Channel swimmers used to coat themselves in grease? Also they acclimatized to it. I don't have that kind of time but maybe I can find old engine grease or a big bucket of lard (won't that make me a tasty snack for any lake monsters). _

_Both Cass and Craig have told me, not in these exact words, that this is a really stupid idea. Personally I think it has a chance, though that chance is small. However, if I go through with it, and at least make a good effort, I think the Boomers will stand by our agreement, and that's good enough._

_Another reason the Boomers had to wait for someone else: none of them know how to swim. I got the impression that sometimes in summer they put together a pool, not unlike the stock tank on a ranch, but that's not really meant for swimming in. More like fun for the kids. And maybe I misinterpreted what they said._

_So, it's been an eventful trip. I miss Arcade. I miss a lot of people, actually. But at least with Arcade I could discuss the implications of the Boomers, postwar._

_Not looking forward to poking around in that lake. Maybe we can put together a boat or a raft stable enough to at least get out there before I have to jump in.  
_   
~ ~ ~

The robots worked on the dock, the closest point of solid ground to the drowned bomber. Gunnar assigned Boone and Cass to finding a boat solid enough, or repairable enough, to get Gunnar safely out into the lake. Gunnar himself investigated the remains of the buildings on the shore. Some of them still had bits and pieces from before the war, and Gunnar knew what he was looking for, unlike his companions.

He needed a dry suit. A wet suit would help a little, but not for something this cold, he suspected. He'd done it once, gone diving, but that was long ago in warmer water than this, with all the necessary equipment. And that was more than two hundred years ago. 

A dry suit would, in theory, help keep him warmer, especially because — if he remembered correctly — he could leave some clothes on underneath. He'd already tested the rebreather, sticking his face under water, and it did work, so at least he could manage that way. But oh, that water was cold. Even if he adjusted, he couldn't work down there for long. 

He didn't have much luck. Rubber tires rotted after some years, he knew that. Sure, the rubber was still around, but it wasn't useful. It either decayed and flaked apart, or hardened; so even if there was a usable bicycle frame — which Gunnar didn't know how to repair — there wouldn't be any rubber tires to make it a soft ride. Not to mention vehicle tires. 

If he thought too much on this, it made him sad, how much the world had changed, and then he guessed everyone would consider him a weird fool, all sentimental about the past and not looking at the present or toward the future. And if he kept being sad, people wouldn't want to be around him. He’d learned those two truths long ago.

So he tried to bury those feelings and focus on the hunt for any remaining suits, or pieces, or anything that he could safely wear underwater and still come up again.

~ ~ ~

"Hey! Army boy! Can you tear yourself away from the horizon for a little while?"

Boone ignored Cass for another moment, shielding his eyes against the morning glare. After another minute, Cass came to stand by him. "You see something?" she asked.

"I think so."

"Lakelurks?"

"No… too far away from the shore. Might just be travelers."

"Yeah… who wonder what's going on down here." Cass checked her weapons. "And these robots can be valuable for scrap."

"They're also tough bastards. We should keep watching, in case someone gets an idea."

"Sure. The boat's probably as good as we can get it. It floats, anyway."

Boone looked to Cass. "Did you get in it?"

"Of course not. It floats, doesn't it?"

~ ~ ~

Cass found Gunnar in one of the old buildings, sitting on the floor, a circle of assorted prewar stuff around him. He was reading a brochure.

"What, you couldn't wait until nighttime?" Cass asked.

Gunnar looked up. "Just reading about the bomber. Its history, you know, before the war."

"Okay. And?"

Gunnar looked up at her and didn't answer. The moment grew awkward. Finally they both looked away, and Gunnar carefully folded the brochure closed and tucked it into his diary. 

"So… did you find anything useful?" Cass asked, a little quieter this time.

"Maybe. I hope you and Craig found an intact boat."

"Yeah, he's taking care of that right now. The Gutsys have a suitable dock."

"Did you ask them if they could fix the boat?"

"We're not Boomers. They just ignore us."

"Well… I don't know enough about boats, other than, it has to keep the water out, and the two of you have to be able to haul me back into it when I'm done. And… please tell me you found a pair of oars or, or something to get us out into the lake and back."

"I'll go check. Boone may know more about that stuff than I do. There weren't any lakes where I grew up."

Gunnar helped them figure out the rowboat, convinced one Mr. Gutsy to repair it enough to make it lakeworthy, and returned to assembling an underwater outfit most likely to keep him alive, if not warm. 

"That's the silliest looking thing," Cass said, as Gunnar returned encased in the suit.

"Says the woman who doesn't even know how to swim or what a fish looks like."

"I do so know what a fish looks like! I saw one on a wall once. It turned its head and sang if you pushed a button."

"That's not actually a real fish," Gunnar sighed. He wondered if any of these lake fish were remotely edible, or if they had enough heavy metals and radiation to be instant fried death with chips. "Hey, tell you what, can you bank a fire so when we get back, I can have something hot to eat? I'll even have that coyote coffee."

Gunnar rowed them out to the approximate point on the lake where he could make the shortest dive for the bomber. "It was considered a historic site, and left untouched," he said, working up some warmth in the suit. "But sometimes people made dives to look at or inspect it. I just hope it's mostly intact. Even with those spare parts back at Nellis, this could be real work."

"How are they going to get it back to Nellis?" Boone asked. He would row back.

"The Gutsys are supposed to manage it. Take it apart and take it home in pieces." Gunnar shook his head. "Not my problem to deal with. Mine is underwater."

"Yeah." Boone seemed distracted now, watching the hills.

"Now, I'll have the rope attached to me," Gunnar went on, since Cass at least was paying attention. "If I give three sharp tugs in a row — yes, very funny, I know — then pull me up as fast as you can, and try not to tip over the boat."

Once they'd reached the point he guessed was closest to the sunken bomber, Gunnar attached the hood and gloves, fitted the rebreather, took the two devices, and dropped into the water.

It was still shockingly cold, even with the suit. Gunnar forced himself to swim down, hoping he would stay warm long enough to make this work. 

Loyal had explained how to use the flotation devices. Summarized, it was: attach them underneath the plane, get back to shore, and press the detonator. The devices should inflate and bring the plane to the surface.

It sounded so easy like that. 

Still: the water was very clear, and during the middle of the day, as now, enough sunlight filtered down that Gunnar could see the plane. Water weeds swayed in the deep, and there were fish that sped away from the unusual visitor.

The rebreather worked, once Gunnar reminded himself to try breathing normally, and that helped a great deal, because he spent much longer looking over the wreck than he'd planned. It wasn't enough to just stick the floats to the plane; done wrong, they'd crack it in pieces that the robots couldn't get to. He had to find the right places, and that took agonizing minutes.

At last he swam back to the surface. Even with the suit on he was so cold that his head hurt and his extremities had gone numb. Get out, get dry and warm, let the robots deal with the plane from here on. He'd done his part, and the Boomers owed him for this.

Gunnar's head broke the surface, and a hand pushed him back down. He flailed for a moment, taken by surprise.

Gunnar moved to stay under the boat, not sure what was going on. His headache worsened; he had to get out of the water. But what was happening? He tried to look up through the water but saw only distorted sky. On the other hand, nobody was trying to shoot him underwater.

After what felt like ages, he saw a hand reach down into the water and wave around. Cass? Was that her hand? Was she trying to tell him to come up? He reached and took her hand, and she pulled on his arm.

Together, somehow, they managed to not tip the boat. Gunnar lay in the bottom, shivering violently, and took off the rebreather. "W, what's happ, happening?" he managed through chattering teeth.

"Someone shot at us," Boone said calmly. He'd taken his rifle with him on the boat, and Gunnar had had other things on his mind, so he hadn't said anything about it. Now Gunnar could faintly smell the powder and hot metal. "I took care of it."

Gunnar curled up tightly, trying and failing to control the shivering. 

"Start rowing," Cass told Boone. "He's blue with cold."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar huddled by the fire, blankets wrapped around him. He still felt so cold inside, even with hot foul coffee and warmed-over beanie weenies in his stomach. That didn't sit very well either, come to think of it, but so be it.

He cradled another mug of coffee and watched the Gutsys working on the plane. Against all odds, Loyal's plan had worked. Whether the thing would be airworthy, who knew, but it had risen from the deep without breaking up.

Boone returned with investigating the bodies. "Van Graffs," he said, showing Gunnar the spent cells from an energy weapon.

"Are you sure? Maybe j-just someone with a laser rifle," Gunnar said. Chattering teeth sounded almost cute in winter stories, but in reality it wasn’t fun at all.

"Van Graffs control the energy weapon trade," Cass said, "and I've got a legal case against them, remember? And now I'm teamed up with the Ponix. They could've been after me."

"So I take a swim and you two deal with attackers." Gunnar sipped the hot coffee.

"Yeah, nice trade, huh?"

"More like I can't leave you alone without trouble happening," Gunnar said, but there was no malice in his tone.

"So now what?" Boone asked. "Now that the bomber is up."

"Now I hope there's a way to let the Boomers know what's going on," Gunnar said. "Because then we can go home." 

~ ~ ~

"…And we're back. This is Mr. New Vegas, and I feel something magic in the air tonight. And I'm not just talking about the gamma radiation. This just in. Several witnesses report a Vertibird flying in from the Northeast. One of them, using binoculars, claimed it was being flown by a group of old men. Freesiders are hoping they'll drop food. I wouldn't get your hopes up, Freesiders. 

"In New Vegas, we know the pain that numbers can bring us. Well, so does Guy Mitchell, who's got ‘Heartaches by the Number’."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, the final part: War


End file.
